


And So the Tides Change

by Rarae



Series: The Family we Create [1]
Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beetleb@bes if you even look at this fic i will stomp you to death with my hooves, Beetlejuice Has Mood Ring Hair (Beetlejuice), Demon Summoning, Dissociation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Non-binary Beetlejuice, Not as dark as the tags make it seem, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, bisexual beetlejuice, bisexual lydia deetz, but i wanted to cover everything that gets mentioned or alluded to, charles is the token straight but we dont hold that against him, gross emotional conversations that no one wants to have, its not very relevant but, learning to set boundaries, lots of demon lore, musical verse, nonbinary Beetlejuice, the suicide is brief and not a main character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 92,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarae/pseuds/Rarae
Summary: No one planned on Beetlejuice returning to their lives, but life happens whether you want it to or not and when Beetlejuice ends up kicked out of the Netherworld, unable to return, everyone has to lean how to make peace with each other. Cue ghostly adventures, demon summonings (who aren't Beetlejuice), learning to set boundaries, and growing together as a family.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Series: The Family we Create [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153598
Comments: 111
Kudos: 128





	1. Juno, Back from the Dead

If there was one thing that breathers never got right about the afterlife, it was the sheer vastness of it. Everyone had a set idea about how large the earth was. It was somewhere around 8 million miles long, 3.5 million times the size of a human being, or just _really fucking big_ if you weren’t the science and numbers sort. But regardless of your scientific background, or lack thereof, a person’s world always managed to stop at their state or country’s borders. Or, if you were a particularly boring breather, it stopped at their house’s border.

So, depending on one’s particular worldview, the world was either small enough to walk from one side to another or a few hundred miles long. Either way, the earth is a perfectly comprehensible size and so the logical conclusion would say that the afterlife would be of a similar nature, since it was simply the next step in the human lifecycle (deathcycle?).

The logical conclusion would be wrong.

The Netherworld was huge, really fucking huge. It was approximately a billion miles from end to end, if one could even find the end, and, unless you got the raw end of the deal in a fight with a sandworm or holy weapon, you’d never escape it either. Forever. That’s the deal you unwittingly sign when you kick the bucket. 

It was neverending wasteland of suffering and cramped deadfolk and Beetlejucie would have happily given up half his lifespan, whatever that might be, if the Netherworld was just a _hair_ smaller. He had been walking approximately for- _fucking_ -ever ever since the whole thing with Lydia and his brief flirtation with life and had only just made it back to the main offices.

This whole thing was a shitshow and he was honestly glad it was over. And he _didn’t_ miss those stupid breathers and their ghostly roommates _at all_. You could quote him on that.

A person could never predict exactly where the doorway would spit them out when they drew it, but, for some reason or another, most Newly Deads appeared close to where the offices were constructed, a spiraling labyrinth of rooms and staircases and dead ends that made no sense even to those who worked in them. The hallway that has taken you to Room 233 every day for the past century might one day lead you to a near endless pit with hell hounds at the bottom tomorrow.

The whole thing was nothing but a spider web designed to confuse and scare the Dead trying to find their way to their case worker. Or make them a snack for a hungry demon if they got too lost on their way to the nonexistent bathrooms.

Beetlejuice took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of rotting corpses and mold, sighing out in contentment. Familiarity may breed contempt, but it also engenders comfort. And there was nothing that signaled you were in the main areas of the Netherworld more than the distinct putrid smell of death and disease. He allowed himself a toothy grin at the sight of the hundreds of ghosts milling about the offices, each scrambling for a crumb of attention from their caseworker.

But, unfortunately for him, getting there was the easy part of the equation. Now came the hard part— finding Juno’s office and escaping unscathed. Her office has been number 666 for as long as Beetlejuice could remember and she normally kept it somewhere just shy of the center of the maze of rooms, but he couldn’t necessarily count on that to still be true today. 

Juno was a changeable woman and attempting to predict her actions or thoughts was likely to end in multiple broken bones or a light maiming for daring to think you were at a high enough level to understand her and he would know.

Beetlejuice glanced around at the other deadfolk milling around as he began his hunt. There were a few who had clearly just passed over. They all had the same vacant eyes with lips pressed into thin, anxious lines. He shoved down the traitorous thoughts about the Maitlands that were threatening to bubble up. He’d no doubt never see them and their sexy, boring selves again so there was no point in dwelling on how they had pretended to like him and invited him into their family only to literally stab him in the back. _The bastards_.

He growled under his breath, sending a few of the more faint-hearted ghosts scrambling. Damnit. He was thinking about them.

They were like earworms that way, impossible to stop thinking about and incredibly tasty to take a nibble of, not that he got a chance to snag more than a kiss from either of them. He sighed and felt his hair tingle. Hopefully it was just lice that he could make a snack out of later and it wasn’t turning some stupid color that would make Juno even more furious with him than she was already bound to be.

Most emotions here were signs of weakness, a signal that your depressed ass was ripe for the picking or mauling. Dealer’s choice on that part, really. Glancing to his right, Beetlejuice noticed an ugly looking creature eying him up and down. Its face extended outwards like a crocodile while its arms and legs looked like they belonged on an insect and it made a motion like it was going to approach. 

He snarled, showing off an impressive set of fangs and letting his glamor drop so the creature could see his red-tipped claws, yellow snake eyes, and pointed ears. He was a _demon_ damnit! No pathetic dead creature (seriously, was this a dead crocodile or something because it definitely wasn't’ from the Netherworld) was going to think it could get the upper hand on him. He was Lawrence Beetlejuice Shaggoth and that name _meant_ something here.

It meant power. It meant he was largely safe walking through the Netherworld. It meant that few demons would even think of going toe to toe with him, barring his mother and her select few “friends,” and it meant that any Dead being who’d been here long enough knew better than to mess with him. 

After all, he was a prince of hell. Not that that meant much to the deceased, but among his fellow demons, it meant he wasn’t one to be trifled with for just anything. Though ranking higher than the dukes, like Juno, and the kings, he still outranked the many marquis, earls, and presidents gracing the Netherworld, along with the poor demons out there scrambling for any ranking at all.

Unfortunately, being a prince of hell also meant that he was Juno’s lapdog, since she was the one who gave him his position, making him a loyal soldier to sic on her political enemies and those who inspired her ever-present wrath. If he had to assign her a deadly sin it would definitely be that one, not that those really mattered at all down here. It was a dirty job that he loathed, but it was also one that kept him from being just another person Juno discorporated, or worse, threw into the Well of Lost Souls.

Beetlejuice lightly snarled as he passed the now cowering creature. _Good_. Those breathers may not respect him, but the deceased sure would. He continued walking, following the scent of burnt out cigarettes and whiskey that was his mother’s signature calling card. The hallways became even more barren as he got closer to her office, the throngs of people lessening and the walls becoming darker with decay and rot.

The air seemed to get heavier the closer he became. With each passing step his chest tightened and his breaths came quicker, each one more shallow than the last.

Room 660.

Was the air actually thinner here or was he having an asthma attack or something?

Room 662.

The floors were sticky now and he had to ensure each step was intentional and forceful in order to overcome the tacky blood that threatened to hold him hostage.

Room 664

Juno, the she-devil herself, not that anyone knew if there was an _actual_ devil. The origin of countless myths and legends, from Hera, the jealous goddess and tormentor of countless, to Tunrida, the snake demon who devoured her own children in a fit of rage.

All myths of course. Lies wrapped around lies wrapped around lies, hiding the kernel of truth in the center. Even he didn’t know the truth any more than the countless Dead and Living that crawled the worlds like cockroaches. Some secrets could only be known through the myths that stay behind.

Nevertheless, Beetlejuice had yet to be devoured and he had no intention of it happening today either.

Room 666.

It was showtime.

He took a deep breath and pushed back his hair before slowly reaching his fisted hand towards the door and pausing for a heavy moment.

He knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

It was his ~~lucky~~ cursed number after all. Bad things come in threes.

The door creaked open, smoke spilling out like the tendrils of an oil spill along the surface of the ocean. Gathering up as much courage he could find, which was less than he hoped for and more than he expected, Beetlejuice stepped through the door and met his mother’s cold eyes as she sat at her dark wooden desk.

For all of her ferocity and notoriety, the only noteworthy thing about Juno’s office was its lack of there being anything noteworthy about it. Her desk sat on the right wall, stately and far too massive for the space. There were a handful of file cabinets on the opposite wall and two motivational posters featuring kittens in mild states of peril with cheery slogans on them. Their eyes had been very precisely scratched out.

Beetlejuice stepped forward, not breaking eye contact, deftly avoiding the scattered liquor bottles and cigarette butts on the floor. It was never smart to look away from a predator, even when you were one yourself.

It was never smart to look them in the eyes either— it could be perceived as a threat or challenge after all, but Beetlejuice never claimed to be an expert on animals.

An eternity wrapped into a few short steps later he stood in front of her desk, attempting to gather enough sense to make his dry tongue _move_ . To say something, _anything at all_ and not just stand there like a lichen-infested tree, silent and proving his mother’s theories of his own stupidity correct.

He opened his mouth—

“You have a lot of nerve coming here Lawrence.” Juno’s voice was like a steel bear trap, cold and unyielding to any outside force.

“Oh?” His voice cracks on the single syllable. He’d damn it all to hell were he not already there. The pit in his stomach only grew.

Juno sneered. “ _Pathetic_ . I thought you'd _finally_ grown a backbone with the whole sandworm incident, but here you are. Cowering there like a sickly fawn, choking over your own words and hair as orange as the fruit you are. I thought you had finally grown out of that childish nonsense.” 

“It—” his voice broke again. “It’s not under my control Mom,” he whispered, each word coming out quieter than the last as he watched Juno stand up, pushing her chair back with a screech reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, and walked so she was face to face with Beetlejuice, examining each and every flaw with calculating and uncaring eyes.

“And just why did you come all the way down here to see me? I thought you were living it up with those breathers upstairs. A big happy family?” She mocked, fangs bared and dripping malice. “Or, _oh_ , poor thing. Did they not want you either?”

“They—”

Pain bloomed across his cheek as his head snapped back from the blow. Beetlejuice reached up and looked to see blood dripping from the freshly made claw marks.

“ _Don’t_ interrupt me. I raised you better than that,” she scolded, looking down at him with disgust and sighing. “They didn’t want you Lawrence,” Juno stated, wiping the blood off her sharpened nails with a look of faint disgust. “And , really, who could blame them? You’re lucky I’ve put up with you for so long. _Ugh_ , white hair? You become more intolerable by the second.”

She turned with a crisp movement back to her desk. “Get out of my sight.”

"But Mom,” Beetlejuice began, catching her shoulder with his hand. “Please, just—”

He didn’t have time to finish before he was flung across the room, hitting the file cabinets with an echoing crush as he felt several of his ribs snap. _Jesus fuck,_ that hurt.

People had the tendency to think that demons didn’t feel pain the same as breathers, but flesh was flesh and a broken bone was a broken bone. Some pains became more fun as time went on, especially if they were used as part of a gag, and all injuries healed fast enough, but this pain was in no way enjoyable and Beetlejuice laid on the floor for several long moments, gasping, trying to work air into uncooperative lungs that didn’t need to breathe but were used to it all the same.

“ _Pathetic,”_ Juno growled again. “I was going to let your rebellion slide this time Lawrence. Your boldness was almost impressive, but you’re clearly no different than the writhing, _useless_ worm you’ve been for the past millennia.”

Beetlejuice could feel the tears threatening to fall as his hair turned a deep shade of purple. He just wanted to see her. It had been months and he just wanted to see his mom. How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

It was the Deetz all over again. Him outstaying his welcome while continually overstepping boundaries that he never knew existed and crossing over lines in the sand that he couldn’t see or understand. 

“Mom…”

Juno’s low growls paused as she looked down at him. A smile creeped across her wrinkled face, lines etched in with the deep cruelty of a blade slicing through meat.

“I think you should return to the Upperworld.”

Beetlejuice pressed both hands firmly to the ground, levying himself into a kneeling position. His ribs hurt like a bitch and he could feel blood continue to trickle down his face. “W- what? Why? You hate me being in the Land of the Living for anything other than my guides.” He internally cursed his stuttering, hoping that Juno wouldn’t comment on it.

“Because you’ve spent the past several decades trying with every fiber of your being to get a breather to see you and as soon as one did, the first thing it did was kill you.”

Beetlejuice protested. Lydia wasn’t an _it_ and that wasn’t how it happened. But the first syllable was hardly out of his mouth before he found himself kicked to the ground with Juno’s pointed heel pressing into his screaming ribs.

“Because even the breathers know that you are intolerable and they want nothing to do with you. And I think you could use a time out to _think_ about the consequences of your actions.” She dug her heel further in and Beetlejuice choked back a cry as a tear finally escaped and fell. “You wanted to be among the living that badly? Then _be_ among the living!” 

She snapped her clawed fingers and Beetlejuice was gone.

He blinked once, twice, three times. He was on Earth, in a park of some sort. In the distance several kids were playing frisbee. A dog was chasing a ball. Couples were walking hand in hand. A man was buying an ice cream for his lover.

Beetlejuice sat in the middle of the sidewalk, flinching as a woman walked through him and cradling ribs had been further damaged when he was unceremoniously dropped back in the Upperworld.

Only one thought raced through his head as he sat, trying to absorb just what the flying hell just happened.

_Fuck._


	2. Happy Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We say goodbye and good riddance to some new faces and greet some old ones! AKA Charles and Lydia finally show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this chapter contains heavy discussion of suicide, a subject Beetlejuice is extremely nonchalant about due to who and what he is. His thoughts do not reflect my feelings and opinions on the matter. Please reach out to someone you care about if you are experiencing thoughts of suicide.

Beetlejuice sat on top of a red Mercedes that was parked on the side of the road. The fact that it was half an hour over the parking meter was honestly what sold him on this car versus any of the others parked closer to the action happening across the plaza. He didn’t need any of those lame law-abiding cars in his life right now.

A crowd was gathered around one of the taller buildings in the city, forming what would have made a formidable mob should they find themselves a few centuries in the past. The murmuring of the crowd could be heard across the street and that, along with the flashing lights of the police and fire trucks, reminded him of the raves he used to attend in decades past.

This would even have a similar ending to several of the crazier drug addled parties he’d been a spectator (or guide) at, though the final blow during those could normally be blamed on laced LSD or a line too much of coke.

This party was going to have a finale much more dramatic than any simple drug overdose, or at least it would the fucker would  _ get on with it already _ .

Beetlejuice would consider feeling bad about being impatient for the guy to off himself and _ jump already _ if he hadn’t already had a dozen other suicides, two kids, and an especially rude cancer victim to guide in the mere two weeks he had been up top.

He knew Juno was pissed at him and this was just further punishment for his many perceived and real transgressions against, but did he have to get  _ all _ the local suicides? Couldn’t he have a few more car crashes or little old people who died peacefully in their sleep?

It was a nasty thought but he was a nasty guy.

He sighed, watching the proceedings with vigorous disinterest. Juno didn’t  _ actually _ have anything to do with which guides he picked up on, but it still felt good to blame her for. If she had any control over the transition from life to afterlife, beyond un-aliving someone, he knew she’d have her claws all over this.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. This guy was taking  _ forever  _ and he didn’t appreciate the extra time to ruminate over his rather unfortunate situation. He’d been sitting on this stupid car for what felt like hours and the guy wasn’t any deader than when he first arrived. It was all  _ I’ll jump _ this and  _ I want to end it all _ that. But where was the pizazz, the follow-through?

If he was going to make his desire to die everyone else's problem like some sort of asshole then he could at least stop making a show of it. Beetlejuice traced a claw along the roof of the car. His more demonic features were glamored at the moment, more out of habit than anything else, but the claws were still there even when they weren’t visible. He scratched through the half-complete sigil he’d absent mindedly drawn.

He snorted in amusement. The Netherworld wasn’t any more pleasant than this one and this guy was in for a pretty nasty surprise when he finally decided to take his final step.

Beetlejuice continued tracing random shapes, scratching the paint off the car off in meaningless patterns. The Upperworld was filled with nothing but liars who pretended to like you only to stab you in the back, but the Netherworld was full of people who told you just how much they despised you to your face. And then spat acid on you after you just spent the past hour very kindly sucking their dick.

People in the Netherworld might be nasty and cruel and violent but at least they were up front with their intentions and didn’t pretend they were your BFFF unlike  _ some _ previously suicidal people he definitely wasn’t thinking about.

Certain people who made him happier than he could remember being in the past millennia, who were cool and fun and played pranks with him. Sexy, boring couples who made stupid pottery and tea that they didn’t even like. Even the stupid parents with their stupid house and dumb hair and shockingly kinky history.

He didn’t miss them at all.

Not one bit.

He pressed a thumb too hard into the hood of the car at the thought, poking a hole into it. Whoops. Just then, he was jolted out of his thoughts at the sudden roar of the crowd as he perked his head up just in time to see the Newly Dead step off the roof. It was showtime, baby!

Six months had passed since everything, the move, the summoning, the marriage, the fallout,  _ all of it, _ and Lydia was feeling more stable than she had since before her mom died, largely thanks to her family, both old and new, and her new therapist. Delia was great and all but a life coach wasn’t exactly what she’d needed.

She was in a dark place for long weeks preceding and following the adventure that had become the most memorable week of her life. But in the stillness following, she had time to think about what had happened and it was  _ bad _ . There was no other word for it. The situation was bad, her mental state was bad, and she had treated her dad and Delia badly because of it.

Lydia was hurting and she took it out on the people closest to her, lashing out and desperate like a dying animal. It didn’t excuse what she’d done but Charles and Delia both welcomed her back with open arms full of forgiveness.

They’d had a long talk about what she or either of them needed to do if they ever found themselves in a similar emotional state again. There had even been formally written contracts involved! Barbarda and Adam insisted on signing their own copies as well and, despite her vocal and numerous protests to the contrary, it was like a boulder was lifted off her shoulders to know that they were all in this together, ready to support each other and to reach out for help when they needed it. And it helped that it wasn’t just her being targeted with the contracts.

Over the past few months they’d all settled into a certain sense of comfort living with one another. Habits shifted to accommodate the other members of the household and life had become almost easy.

Boring, but easy.

Except for the therapy sessions— those were harder than any demon summoning or chemistry test in the world. But she was able to talk through many of the issues that were bothering her and work towards finding solutions that didn’t involve acting out and unintentionally harming herself or her family.

Unfortunately, she could tell that her therapist knew she was holding certain pertinent details back. She was  _ very _ good at her job. But there were things Lydia couldn’t discuss with her no matter how much she wanted to if she wanted to remain out of the mental ward.

Words like sandworm, Netherworld, and demons were four-letter-words in both the therapist’s office and her own home.

Barely a mention of Beetlejuice had passed since he’d returned to the Netherworld. If he was brought up it was only in the barest of ways, as if the mere mention of his existence would summon him back into their lives. His name didn’t pass through their lips even as they repaired the floorboard and patched the various holes in the wall or found a dropped bag of popcorn and 3-D glasses. They especially didn’t mention his name when they threw out the blood-stained rug from the living room.

If only thinking about Beetlejuice was enough to bring him back. Even though they’d only been together a week, he had become integral to her life in that time. She’d grown to love his brash and gross personality, his surprising wit, and wild tendency towards chaos. In short, she just plain missed him.

A stranger in the with a black and white cardigan would turn her head and cause a spark of hope to flash in her chest before quickly being snuffed out and pictures of zebras had become her worst enemy— not that she saw many outside of looking them up herself for that one school project. One day an edgy freshman walked in with poorly dyed green hair and a voice gravely enough to be a driveway and Lydia felt the breath being knocked out of her.

She’d had enough. Six months was long enough.

She was going to see Beetlejuice and if no one else was on board with it then they would just have to deal.

Fortunately, Charles had already determined that today was going to be a “daddy-daughter” bonding day. He was so cringe sometimes, but this had become a biweekly tradition that wasn’t nearly as bad as Lydia had expected it to be.

Sometimes they would just stay home and watch a movie (Lydia still cackled at his overexaggerated reactions to  _ Poltergeist _ ) or have a board game night with everyone, but today, at Lydia’s decree, they were going to city center and competing to find the weirdest looking rando or hipster they could find. Bonus points if they were vaping weirdly colored smoke or were wearing more than three different pastel colors at once. Charles had to go pick something up from a client while they were there, but the rest of the afternoon was Lydia and Charles  _ only _ .

Charles had been in an abnormally good mood that day after selling a house that he’d had on the market for a good eight months, earning a hefty commission, and Lydia planned to take full advantage of the moment.

She’d gotten a B back on her latest algebra test and had done all of her weekly chores already. Today was the perfect day to strike.

And by strike she meant bring up the possibility of summoning her BFFF back into their lives and home. She’d managed to make a couple close-ish friends in the few months she’d been back at school, but none of them really  _ got _ her like Beetlejuice.

Delia and the Maitlands would be an easier sell but she knew her Dad would be the tough one to crack. She’d already been working on the Maitlands for weeks and they had come around to admitting they missed their chaotic demon in an odd sort of way.  _ “Almost charming _ ” they had called him with faint smiles. Gross.

Delia… well Delia was Delia. She went on about his “energy” and how lonely he seemed, which was fair, but she had also set crystals around the house that she said would cleanse the house of all lingering demonic energy. Lydia counted her as a win though as she didn’t seem to shy away from the subject at all, not like her dad who preferred to pretend their move-in week didn’t exist.

They somehow managed to find a parking spot close to the office Charles needed to stop at, which meant the boring part of their trip was over all the sooner and they could get to hipster hunting. Charles didn’t really understand the game but he liked pointing out all the people with weird hats or the kids that were clearly on sugar highs.

Their conversation came to a comfortable lull as the area by the water fountain they were sitting out cleared out. They started walking towards the car and Lydia felt her mouth dry as she worked up the courage to start what was going to be a difficult conversation. 

But Lydia was no pushover— she summoned a demon, haunted her own house for a week, and lived with two (admittedly very nice) ghosts! Nothing was going to phase her today and that included talking to her dad about the one subject he avoided more than her mom’s death.

Taking a deep breath as they passed by some new agey store advertising Ouija boards guaranteed to “summon almost every ghost” that Charles gave the side eye as they kept walking. Good rhyme, bad advertising.

“Hey, Dad—”

Charles stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, causing Lydia to walk straight into his back with an undignified  _ oomf _ .

“Hey!” she protested.

“Lydia,” Charles started, voice deadly serious, “keep your head down and keep walking.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the edge of the sidewalk so they could cross the street and make their way to where their car was.

What the heck was happening? Lydia immediately jerked her head up, looking around for what Charles saw. She didn’t see anything worth freaking out over, except  _ oh _ . There was a crowd of people gathered at the end of the street, circled around a nondescript building with policemen scattered around. That must be what her dad didn’t want her seeing, but she didn’t understand why.

“Lydia,  _ please, _ just keep your eyes forward and walk.” Charles tugged her hand, leading her across the first lane of traffic to the grassy median as Lydia continued straining her head to look at the commotion down the street.

She didn’t understand what all the fuss was until… oh.  _ Oh. _

Lydia felt tension ripple down her body and settle into a gnawing pit in her stomach as she watched a man step off the side of the building and fall to the ground.

She always imagined that seeing someone fall off a building would be slow, like how it is in the movies, as if time would somehow slow down into agonizingly long seconds as the person fell. That’s what she imagined it would be like if she stepped off her own roof all those months ago, an endless amount of time until the bottom.

It wasn’t like that at all. There was an intake of breath and the man was gone before she could exhale again. One more breath than that man had taken.

The crowd screamed and Lydia heard nothing but the blood rushing through her head.

She distantly felt Charles leaning down to her height, placing a gentle hand on the side of her face and pulling her towards him, a silent encouragement to look away from the scene of death. She had a passing thought that most people didn’t see nearly as much death in their entire lifetime as she had in the past year.

She allowed Charles to turn her face towards him and she gave him a weak smile. “I’m okay.”

He stared into her eyes for a moment, searching for answers Lydia wasn’t sure he could find or would like if he could. His own eyes were soft and crinkled at the edges with gentle concern.

Lydia reached up and grabbed Charles’ hands with her own and turned again to look at the crowd. The police were forcing everybody back as the ambulance she hadn’t noticed until that moment screamed. 

Most people were standing still, as if in shock, hands raised to mouths and hands covering children’s faces as if they weren’t all watching this man’s life end moments ago with the same eagerness that they watched someone get murdered on TV. This, however, is what made who she saw next stand out.

A short man-shaped being weaving his way through the crowd, dressed like a bloated zebra that a lion spit out with gr- _ purple? _ Hair. She gasped and Charles' eyes quickly followed to where she was looking.

“No,” he whispered in abject horror, mouth dropping open.

Lydia grinned. “ _ Beetlejuice. _ ”

There was nothing Beetlejuice wanted to do at the moment more than scream so loud and so long at his head quite literally popped off so he could chuck it at this annoying as fuck Newly Dead who would  _ not stop _ talking.

This isn’t fair blah blah blah, there wasn’t supposed to be anything after I died blah blah, oh god what are they doing to my body, are you evening listening to me?

On and on  _ and on _ he went.

Unfortunately, popping his head off likely wouldn’t do anything other than scare the annoying shit, and while normally Beetlejuice would give almost anything to give someone a good scare, he just wanted to finish this job so he could  _ leave _ . 

Dealing with suicides was the worst. The people were all either depressed (hard to convince to pass on), angry (even harder to get to pass on), or practically catatonic (he just threw those people handedly through the door), and it continued to back memories he’d rather not dwell on.

“— and now even the weird demon thing isn’t listening to me! How is this any better than before?” The Newly Dead was still ranting.

It was time to push this guy through the door, protests be damned. “Hey. Hey.  _ Hey! _ ”

“What? What!” The man exclaimed, raising his hands and wearing one of the most exasperated faces Beetlejuice had seen in a long time.

Beetlejuice took in an exaggerated breath and placed a hand on the Newly Dead’s shoulder. 

“Listen, Bryan—”

“My name’s Adam.”

“Of course it is,” Beetlejuice muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Shut up. For realsies, shut up.”

“Excuse y—”

Beetlejuice swung the tote bag he was holding over Adam’s neck and shoved the  _ Guide for the Recently Deceased _ into flailing arms.

“Now, what you’re gonna do is you’re gonna take this book and this chalk,” he said shoving the chalk into Adam’s face, “and you’re going to draw a door, knock on it three times, and then walk through it like the good little Newly Dead you are.” Beetlejuice flashed a sharp grin that was more malice than anything else. “Capisce?” Adam sputted. “Good! Now get cracking.” Beetlejuice shoved Adam towards the nearest wall, which just so happened to be a poorly lit sex shop, the perfect place to enter the other side.

The Newly Dead glared at him as he started drawing very shaky lines on the brick. “You are a very rude individual, you know that?”

“Yep!” It was all part of his rakish charm. The lovable asshole was the part he chose to play in this world and by God (by Satan?) he was going to play it well. The asshole part he had down pat, for sure. The lovable part… well.

Beetlejuice watched the Newly Dead slowly, agonizingly draw the door. Jesus, didn’t this guy know he wasn’t getting any deader? He had places to be. Well, not really, but it was still rude to take so long. Guides didn’t have to be this whole long drawn out affair but Newly Deads had the unfortunate tendency to freak out and not listen to his  _ very _ kind and thoughtful advice. They were so rude and not even in the fun way.

At least this one wasn’t running away screaming about the big scary demon hurling a tote bag at his face, though that might be in part due to the glamor to hide his more demonic features, which just tended to freak the little humans out even more. It did help overall that he was more human looking than some of the other demonic guides out there. Like Arlund- he looked like a deformed wolf with weirdly long arms and gray mane. Ipos also had a tendency to freak out the Newly Deads with his mish-mash of animal parts all sewn together into one.

He hadn’t thought about them forever, not since their last poker night when Arlund decided to eat both of Beetlejuice’s arms, which took  _ weeks _ to regenerate, and then Saleos’ pet crocodile thing thought Ipos was dinner and everything really just went to shit from there. The orgy part of it was fun though.

Not that he’d be seeing any of them again anytime soon considering his indeterminable length of banishment from the Netherworld. He felt a slight pang of sadness at the thought, but it was quickly brushed aside. None of them were true friends anyways. 

Demons didn’t make friends with other demons. At best, they chose not to try and kill one another long enough to make a deal or to fuck.

He didn’t hear anything but Beetlejuice felt a sharp tug in the center of his chest, like a fish hook starting to dig into his skin. Did a breather say his name out loud?

Beetlejuice’s eyes narrowed on the Newly Dead who had finally managed to finish the stupid outline of the door. He had even added shading and everything. What a loser.

He didn’t  _ think _ he told Newly Dead his name, but who else would have called him? He could only be summoned when he was in the Upperworld and the only people up here who knew his name were the Deetz and he’d bet his last dime that they were doing their best to forget that he’d ever existed at all. Like, join the club am I right?

“What the fuck did you just say, Phil?”

“It’s Adam and I said you’re very rude and smell like rotten fish!”

“Okay, first of all, it’s mold you smell, not fish—”

“Gross.”

“Your mom is gross. And second of all, you said—”

“ _ Beetlejuice! _ ”

The tugging in his chest became sharper, almost painful and Beetlejuice swore he heard his name out loud this time. It was coming from somewhere behind him and he vaguely heard Dave or whatever his name was knocking on the door and asking an inane question about green smoke why it was leaking out of the door.

Beetlejuice scanned the dispersing crowd until he saw her, Lydia darting through the crowd with a grin stretched a mile wide, deftly avoiding the onlookers giving her nasty looks. She was followed close behind by Charles, who was apologizing to the disgruntled individuals Lydia had skirted by.

“Beej!”

His jaw dropped. “ _ Lydia? _ ” What was she doing here? She should have been off partying and going to school and smoking weed, or whatever it was breathers her age got up to when they weren’t being harassed by certain unnamed demons who’d finally gotten the hint that they weren’t wanted.

Suddenly he found himself with arms full of angsty teenager.

“Wha- Scarecrow?” Holy shit, what was she  _ doing _ here? And why was she hugging him? She was supposed to still be pissed about their whole marriage sham and all of that.

He squeezed back slightly. Hugs weren’t exactly his forte and breathers were so fragile.

Lydia abruptly released him and stood back, red shadowing her cheeks as she fisted her hand and punched him in the shoulder. It didn’t even hurt- were breathers seriously this weak? He’d have to remember to be more gentle with her in the future. Except, no he wouldn’t because this was definitely a one time thing and he was never going to see her again. 

Demons didn’t get to have BFFFs, especially ones as cool as her.

Gross, emotions. What was happening to him? Could feeling things be infectious? He'd spent way too much time around ooey gooey breathers if that was the case.

“Where have you been, asshole?” Lydia demanded with a bright smile. “And who’s that guy,” she added, gesturing to Derek behind them.

Speaking of, Ryan decided to make his continued annoyance known and interrupt an otherwise charming little reunion. 

“Ugh, I’ve been here, doing  _ this _ ,” Beetlejuice groaned, gesturing behind him to the seething Newly Dead.

Lydia’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Ew, I didn’t need to know that.”

“What? No.  _ No. _ I meant I’ve been doing guides. Y’know, my job?”

“ _ You _ have a job?”

“Of course I have a job! I’m a fully functional and responsible adult, I’ll have you know.”

She snorted as Charles appeared behind her, having made his way through the dispersing crowd. He laid a protective hand on her shoulders and narrowed his eyes at the scene before him.

“Chuck! How ya doin’ buddy?”

His face was stony. “Fine. What are you doing here?” He was getting tired of that question being asked.

The Newly Dead shoved his way between Beetlejuice and the Deetz, placing his hands on his hips and snarling, “Being a shitty guide is what! I’m his client- the least he could do is focus on  _ me _ before talking to his coworkers.”

Charles frowned. “We’re not his coworkers.”

“And who even are you?” Lydia asked, looking him up and down with an unimpressed expression.

“ _ This _ ,” Beetlejuice began with a hand-wavey flourish, “is my job.”

“That makes you sound like a pimp,” Lydia said.

Beetlejuice winked. “Maybe I am.”.

“Ex _ cuse _ you!” the Newly Dead exclaimed. “I’ll have you know —”

Beetlejuice cut him off with a firm hand on his arm as he grabbed the man and dragged him towards the still-open door to the Netherworld and shoving him through. He picked the tote bag up where it was laying on the sidewalk and tossed it in after Adam.

Beetlejuice snapped and a long sheet of paper appeared in his hand, along with an ink pad. “You might want to read that before doing anything else,” he called through the door as he inked him thumb and pressed it to the bottom of the page. As soon as he did so, the paper folded itself into what looked like a hummingbird and darted through the door.

Beetlejuice closed the door and turned back to Lydia and Charles who were staring at him with eager and hesitant expressions in turn.

Charles cleared his throat and shuffled on his feet. “And just who was that, Mr. Juice.”

Beetlejuice snorted.  _ Mr. Juice _ . Shrugging in a way he hoped appeared nonchalant, he replied, “I ‘unno. Some dead guy.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Right,” Charles drawled, eyes flickering from the now nonexistent door to Beetlejuice and back.

“Wicked.” Lydia said. “Can Beej come home with us?”

Both Charles and Beetlejuice startled at that.

“Lydia, honey, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice started, eyes darting between Charles, Lydia, and the ground, mulling over the sheer oddness of agreeing with Charles about something. As much as he wants that big happy reunion that you’d see in a TV show, this was real life and he wasn’t too keen on the subsequent screaming and banishment that would occur should he step back foot into the Maitland-Deetz household. “Maybe another time kiddo. I’m kind of busy right now.” 

Beetlejuice took a half step backwards, not fully realizing he was stepping away from the duo, and Lydia rushed forward, escaping Charles’ hand on her shoulder and roughly grabbing Beetlejuice’s arm. 

“ _ No _ , you can’t.”

“Um…”

‘Be….cause. Delia’s making pie for dessert tonight!” Both men stared blankly at her. “And she would be  _ very _ upset if we saw you and didn’t invite you.”

“She would?”

“Yes, she would. Because Delia is disgustingly polite and we aren’t rude people,  _ are we _ Dad?” She leveled a steady look at Charles who was doing a fantastic impression of a deer in the headlights.

“I mean, no, but —”

Lydia nodded firmly. “Then it’s settled. You’re coming to dinner with us,” she said, tugging Beetlejuice by the shirtsleeve across to where their car was parked.

Charles stepped in front of them, blocking their path. “Lydia, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Lydia stuck her chin up, expression determined. “And why not?”

“Well,” he hesitated. “Like Mr. Juice said, he’s a busy man and I’m sure he has better things to do than come eat dinner with us.” Charles leveled a look at Beetlejuice with this statement, as if daring him to disagree. “And I don’t think dead people eat anyways,” he muttered as an afterthought.

“He’s not too busy for dinner, Dad.”

“Lydia—”

“No! Everyone needs to eat and it’s been forever so he should definitely come home with us and say hello. He doesn’teven have to stay for long!”

“Lydia—”

“So come on,” Lydia interrupted, dragging Beetlejuice out of the way of Charles. “Let’s go.”

“ _ Lydia, _ Charles repeated, voice as hard as a beetle’s shell. “I don’t want this… this… this  _ man _ in my house. He threatened to kill all of us and he  _ married _ you.”

“It was a green card thing,” Beetlejuice couldn’t help but interject.

Charles snarled, “You stay out of this.”

“But this is literally about me!” Beetlejuice protested.

Lydia spoke over his complaints, ignoring his interjections entirely. “Did you forget that he saved my life after I literally murdered him?” Her eyes were narrowed and every part of her screamed that backing down was not an option today.

“Well, kind of, but that still doesn’t change the fact that he was planning on killing all of us.”

“I know I said that but I had already changed my mind by a few minutes after,” Beetlejuice couldn’t help but add.

That gave the arguing pair a pause as they both turned towards him. “Really?” Lydia asked, tilting her head.

Beetlejuice hesitated under the sudden scrutiny of the two. They were truly a formidable pair and he could see where Lydia got her take no shit attitude from. “Well, yeah. I was mostly just talking shit that entire time. I was experiencing  _ so many _ new and strong emotions all at once and it was really overwhelming, but yeah. I wasn’t actually going to kill any of you. Scare and threaten? Sure. But that’s just kind of what demons do.” He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably and trying without success to tug his arm back from Lydia’s death grip.

An awkward silence descended, broken only by the cars rushing past and the distant sirens.

“ _ But  _ I am not one to overstay my welcome when I am clearly not wanted so…” he trailed off.

“That’s literally all you did last time we saw you.”

Lydia glared at him. “I want him there, Dad. Beetlejuice, I  _ want _ you there. I miss you.”

Literally how could that possibly be true? He sputtered, “I —”

“Now just shut up and come with me before I get hives from all this emotional sincerity.”

Beetlejuice felt his hair tingle as it shifted to what he was sure was some other highly embarrassing color.

“Lyds, you can’t just have something just because you want it.”

“ _ Please _ ?”

Charles heaved a heavy breath, running his hands down his face and groaning. “You’re going to be the death of me one day, I swear. Fine. Fine!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in defeat. “Mr. Juice can come but we’re going to have ground rules.”

“Ew,” Beetlejuice said. He was met with two equally fierce glares. “What?”

“Can we at least do that when we get home? People are giving us weird looks.” Charles looked around, noticing the people giving them a wide berth as they moved around them, some even walking into the street to avoid drawing too close. 

“Yeah, I’m kind of invisible to everyone but you two at the moment.”

“Ah,” Charles said. “Fine. But we’re discussing this just as soon as we get home.”

“Deal!” Lydia exclaimed with a little bounce. God, she was so cute, Beetlejuice thought. In a completely platonic and not creepy way, of course. Seriously, she’s like seven. Breathers’ ages were weird and he wasn’t entirely sure how old any of them were, but he knew Lydia was far too young for anything weird.

She dropped Beetlejuice’s arm and rushed across the street, confident the two were following her.

Charles and Beetlejuice locked eyes for a moment. “Don’t make me regret this, Mr. Juice.”

Beetlejuice had an overwhelming desire to make a joke, anything to decrease the steadily mounting tension between them. Something about how his last name wasn’t actually Juice or how Charles’ green shirt matched Beetlejuice’s hair and how that was almost an invitation, now wasn’t it?

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Chuck,” he said at last, voice light but meaning every word of it with a seriousness that he was rarely capable of.

He stepped after Lydia, chest heavy with tension. This was not going to be a fun evening. Lydia seemed confident that the others wanted to see him and Lydia certainly seemed to have missed him, though if that was a farce or not he couldn’t say for sure. Breathers were so fickle with their emotions sometimes and he couldn’t help but worry this was another bait and switch that she was pulling- trick BJ into going into their house by promising him once more that they all liked him and wanted to be friends, only to banish him back into the Netherworld.

Only this time Juno would rip him into shreds the second he passed through the barrier.

“Why’s your hair purple now? It was half pink a few seconds ago,” he heard Charles ask from behind him.

“Get a move on Chuck or the kid’ll leave without us!” he called back.

Oh yeah. This was going to be a complete shitshow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of the chapter and happy holidays! :)


	3. Why Are There So Many Rules?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to catch up with everyone else and lay down some ground rules!

The ride back to the Maitland-Deetz household would have been completely silent if Lydia hadn’t taken it upon herself to update Beetlejuice of everything he had missed since he went back to the Netherworld. He was honestly surprised how much had changed since he left. It was almost unsettling. Breathers grow and change so quickly in comparison to the dead, who take it upon themselves to change as little as possible for as long as possible.

He learned that Lydia started therapy and told him in hushed tones that it’s helped her tremendously and there have been no roof reoccurrences, but she hissed at him that he if he even joked about that one then she would exorcise him so fast his head would spin. She was joking, of course. Probably.

But, besides that, she had started back to school. She was proud to tell him that she was a sophomore now, no longer fresh meat, and he pretended to know what that meant. He’d been called sophomoric before. Maybe it was similar? Her classmates were mostly fine, but boring and kind of lame.

Adam and Barbara were still jumping from hobby to hobby and Adam had a brief fling with making stained glass coasters, which were now so numerous that they were practically overflowing out of the house. Delia started joining Charles when he was showing houses in addition to her life coaching, but Lydia says that she doesn’t think Delia will stay in the realty business much longer. Too many houses have “bad energy” apparently and she doesn’t like selling them to people.

All in all, it seemed like life had moved on and everyone was perfectly fine. Without him. And of course they were! There wasn’t a single person alive or otherwise who needed him, but that didn’t stop the sting of abandonment he felt as Lydia talked.

At long last they turned into the driveway and the house loomed in front of them. His birthplace and death place all rolled into a poorly decorated mausoleum filled with his favorite people in the world.

Beetlejuice took an unneeded breath as Lydia herded him towards the door, Charles leading the rear and jangling the keys in his hand with an uncertain expression.

“Lydia, wait a moment please,” Charles said. She turned around with a quizzical expression, hand loosely gripping the door handle.

“I think… I think I should go in first and, uh, prepare Delia and the Maitlands for… well,” he gestured to Beetlejuice and shuffled past Lydia and Beetlejuice, entering the door and leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.

The pair stared at one another and shuffled awkwardly as they heard something crash inside, each minute that passed feeling like an eternity.

“So,” Beetlejuice drawled.

“So…?”

“How’s life?” he asked.

Lydia leveled a glare at him, but then snorted, cracking into a smile. “How’s life? Seriously, that’s the best you got? I don’t know Beetlejuice! How’s death?” she asked, laughing.

“It just gets livelier every year!”

“Oh, wow,  _ boo _ . That was terrible.”

They shared matching grins that turned more hesitant as the door cracked open and Charles waved them in, eyes following Beetlejuice with an intensity that he didn’t care for.

The pair walked in and saw Adam and Barbara seated on the couch with Delia standing behind them with a cautious look.

“A-dog, B-town! What’s cookin’ good lookin’s?”

“Beetlejuice,” Adam started, voice flat. “Hey.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Delia said, eyes soft voice absent of any indicators that she was lying. Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t appreciate the trickery. There was no way any of them (except  _ maybe _ Lydia) were happy he was there and the least they could do was be upfront about it, especially since there was no real reason for them to lie to him again.

“So, why’d you pick now to, ah,  _ visit _ us then?” Barbara asked.

Beetlejuice summoned a cowboy hat and tipped it at her and said in a faux country accent, “Well you know I was in town for a job and I realized just how close I was to all of you and figured, well it would just be a darn shame if I didn’t come say hi to the sexiest ghosts in town and their breather roommates.

Barbara smiled slightly at him and he considered that a win, even if it did look strained. “So yeah,” he finished lamely. “Here I am.”

“Here he is,” Lydia echoed.

Delia looked at her, concerned, as if noticing for the first time that she was there too. “And you’re okay with this?”

Lydia jutted her chin up and met Delia’s gaze. “Of course.”

Deli wasn’t fazed by her posturing and continued gently, “Even after everything he’s —”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about all that,” Beetlejuice interrupted, looking at the floorboards. Looking at everyone’s eyes while saying that would have been too much at that moment.

“ _ And _ he  _ did _ save my life after I literally murdered him and even a couple times before that,” Lydia said.

“That is true,” Adam admitted.

“But it doesn’t change what he did in the first place,” Barbara said. “He nearly got me exorcised and he put the lives of everyone in this house in danger. That can’t be fixed with a simple ‘I’m sorry,’ Beetlejuice.” Her voice seemed genuinely sympathetic but still with the steel core that he loved about her. He’d love to see that steel core in the bedroom at some point as she pegged him and he opened his mouth to say just that, before closing it again with a snap. That probably wouldn’t help him out at the moment.

His perverted remarks served their uses, namely getting him out of intimate conversations and breaking tension and being just plain  _ fun, _ but he took a deep breath and decided that honesty might help him out right now. Being honest around demons and in the Netherworld in general was asking for betrayal, but this was important and only had one shot not to mess it up. “I’m honestly not sure what I can do to fix that, but I’m very sorry for, you know, everything. But I do want to fix it.”

The apology kept sticking in his throat, past experience telling him that each word that passed his lips was more ammunition, another reason to turn him away.

They were all still staring at him, expecting something he didn’t know how to give even if they knew that they were asking for when Lydia spoke up, “I think he should stay with us. He deserves another chance. We messed up back then too. It was a joint mess up.”

“He was going to marry you Lydia!” Charles half-yelled. “Actually, no. He  _ did _ marry you.”

“For like three minutes,” Lydia argued.

Delia hummed. “And he was very adamant it was a green card thing.”

“It was 100 per-fucking-cent a green card thing. I wanted to be able to interact with the world of the living and I would never  _ seriously _ marry Lydia. I know she’s like, what? Twelve? And breathers don’t do that sort of thing until they’re thirty or something.”

They all gave him an odd look at that.  _ Fuck. _ Was he messing up the apology that badly?

“I’m fifteen, Beej.”

“Twelve’s pretty close.”

Lydia crossed her arms and turned to face him. “You were seriously going to marry me when you thought I was twelve?”

He shrugged and tried not to think about the weird looks they were all still giving him. “Breathers age weird.”

“And we can marry at eighteen.”

“No shit? Really? That seems young.”

“It is,” Charles growled under his breath, but Delia only chuckled and commented that they must all seem young to him.

“How old  _ are _ you?” Adam asked, fiddling with his glasses. He was so damn cute.

“Around a thousand.”

Barbara tilted her head. “Around? You don’t know for sure?”

“Uh, well, I was born in 898 —”

“1988?” Adam asked, nose scrunched in confusion, which just caused his glasses to fall back down his nose again.

Beetlejuice barked out a laugh and felt his hair tingle. Damn, hopefully it was just turning back to green and not some other embarrassing color. 

“No, 898,” he repeated, emphasizing the first eight. “And its… 2017?” He wasn’t good with dates or time. There were no calendars in the Netherworld; everything was either  _ now  _ or  _ later _ and how far away  _ later _ was didn’t really matter since time didn’t work there anyways. Years were easier to remember, but Beetlejuice could never be certain he hadn’t missed or gained a few along the way. “So that would be, uhh,” he trailed off, counting on his fingers.

“It’s 2020,” Charles deadpanned.

“One thousand and twenty two years,” Barbara announced in astonishment. “That’s so  _ old! _ ”

“Hey!” he protested. “I’m pretty young for a demon. I mean just look at me.” He gestured up and down his body. “Still super young and sexy.” He winked at the couple sitting on the couch and Adam blushed handsomely while Barbara rolled her eyes.

Once he’d recovered some of his composure, Adam leaned forward, looking at Beetlejuice with wide eyes. “Really? How old are you by demon standards?”

“Well,” Beetlejuice drawled as he tried to remember what Miss A had told him about demon versus breather versus ghost aging all those years ago. “I don’t remember exactly. The math was a bit complicated, but around fifty years for me is one for a living human. It's a little faster when you’re born and faster when you die but, yeah, I think that was the number. And when you die it’s the same schtick. So if you die at 30 and then spend a century dead, you’re really only 32.”

Delia was tapping at her phone with brows furrowed while Beetlejuice was talking and looked up almost alarmed when he finished.

“So we haven’t aged at all since dying?” Adam asked.

“Nope. You’re still as young and hot as you were when you died,” Beetlejuice said with a wink as Adam’s cheeks flushed again.

“Wait,” Delia cut in. “Beetlejuice, you’re only 22?” If Beetlejuice didn’t know any better he would almost say she sounded alarmed.

“Yeah, I guess so. Why?”

“You're just, just so much  _ younger _ than I thought. You’re just a kid yourself.”

“I mean, technically, you’re an adult at 18,” Lydia pointed out.

Delia scoffed. “No you don’t. You’re still a kid well into your late twenties.” Adam and Barbara bobbed their heads in agreement. They died at 33 and 31 respectively and still felt at times like they were just overly large kids masquerading as adults.

Delia turned to Charles with wide eyes. “Charles, did you know this?”

“Obviously not Delia or I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t. Well, I don’t know what I wouldn't have done, but no, I didn’t realize he was so young either.”

Beetlejuice felt the need to point out that he was still well over a thousand years old and said so.

Charles sighed and pressed his hands to his face, breathing deeply. He stayed that way for a good half minute before putting his hands down with another heavy sigh and walking to sit down on the chair sitting catty-corner to the couch. He gestured to the others still standing to take a seat and looked in that moment like he was a thousand years old himself with how strained his face was. Delia joined the Maitlands on the couch as Delia and Beetlejuice sat next to each other on the floor next to the coffee table.

After they had all seated, Charles brought out his leather binder that he used for work and flipped to the next page. “I think we’ve lost the thread of what’s happening here a bit. The question we still have to answer is: Is Beetlejuice permitted in the house or not?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“It’s only fair that everyone living here gets a vote Lydia,” Charles chided. “What do the rest of you think?”

Adam and Barbara shared a look that somehow managed to be an entire conversation because they both nodded at each other after a moment and Adam spoke. “I think that we should establish some ground rules, but as long as Beetlejuice agrees to follow them and behave, Barbara and I would be okay with him staying here.”

Barbara tilted her head in agreement “We want to be fair though, so the rules would be for everyone, not just you Beetlejuice.” God/Satan, she was so nice it gave him a headache. Why should they care what was fair to him? It was  _ him _ invading  _ their _ house. If anything, it would only be fair if they were exempt from the ground rules Adam was talking about.

He wasn't going to say that aloud through. Rules grated on his nerves enough without having to watch others go around breaking them. And if the rules applied to everyone then he wouldn’t be the only one facing consequences when they were broken. Hopefully. That never seemed to matter much to his mom growing up, but, as he continually reminded himself, these people were nothing like her.

Charles wrote something down in his notebook. “Delia?”

She crossed her legs and placed her hands together in her lap, worrying her fingers over one of her crystals. Beetlejuice couldn’t see well enough to identify it, but it looked clear and long. “I think his energy is very different than when we saw him last and he seems genuinely apologetic about what happened.” She bit her lip and tilted her head, thinking. “Lydia is right, dear, everyone deserves a second chance and I think he’ll be good for her.”

Charles leaned back, brows drawn close together. “ _ Good  _ for her?”

“Yes. Since meeting Beetlejuice, she’s been happier, more engaged in her schoolwork —”

“She’s sitting  _ right here _ ,” Lydia groused.

“—and I think that they make each other better.” Beetlejuice felt his cheeks flush. They make each other better? What was that even supposed to mean?

Charles hummed in disagreement. “We’ll see. But it looks like I’m outvoted either way. 

“How long were you planning on staying with us, Mr. Juice?”

Beetlejuice sniggered. That was never going to get old. “I dunno, pops. How long are you allowing me to stay?”

“As long as you want,” Lydia answered on behalf of the others.

Beetlejuice shrugged. “Until you get sick of me then I suppose. I’m kind of kicked out of the Netherworld at the moment so I’ve just been crashing wherever.”

Delia perked up, alarmed. “You’re homeless?” She reached over and swatted Charles' arm and hissed at him, “ _ He’s homeless _ .”

“I’m dead Debbie.”

“Delia.”

“Dead people can’t really  _ be _ homeless. They’re just living the rugged hobo lifestyle until they finally kick it back into the Netherworld.”

“But where have you been sleeping?” Delia asked.

“I don’t need to sleep,” he replied uncomfortably. This was beginning to feel that this was becoming more of an interrogation than anything else. 

“Neither do Adam and Barbara, but they sleep every night anyways.”

“Almost every night,” Barbara corrected.

This was becoming far too intimate and Beetlejuice tried to think of something to redirect them. “Well Delilah if you’re that concerned then I can always sleep with you,” he said with a lascivious grin and an exaggerated wink.

Instead of becoming defensive like he expected, Delia smiled softly at him. Weird.

“So Beetlejuice stays here until it’s decided by a majority vote otherwise?” Charles asked the group, effectively cutting the interrogation short. Beetlejuice could’ve kissed him for it if he didn’t think it’d get him kicked out before he even moved in. When no one protested he continued, “Now that that’s settled, it’s time for ground rules.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me here Chuck.”

“As you seem so keen to remind everyone, Mr. Juice, you are already dead. And you are at the end of my tolerance and patience for you today,” Charles snapped back.

“Well damn, you have a backbone in you after all. I’m almost proud.”

“ _ Dad _ . That’s so rude!”

Charles looked at Lydia and took a steadying breath. ”If you can’t follow the rules then feel free to leave. But if you’re staying here then this is what’s expected of you.”

Gross, he thought. “Fine,” he said.

Barbara’s hand shot up. “But remember that  _ anyone _ can add or change a rule as long as everyone agrees to it.” She was such a nerd, acting like she was still in school and raising her hand like that. Satan, she probably misses school too. She was one of the lamest and most boring people Beetlejuice had ever met so how was it possible that she was still so interesting?

“Okay first,” Charles looked down at the page he had been scribbling on, “No threatening, harming, or killing in the Deetz-Maitland house. Anyone have any issues with that one?”

“What if someone breaks in and is trying to kill us?” Lydia challenged. She agreed with the rule but her dad was being a bit of a hard-ass in her opinion and she wasn’t going to make things easy for him.

He clicked his pin once.

“No threatening, harming, or killing in the Deetz-Maitland house, unless there is a break-in and measures must be taken to protect oneself or others. Good?”

He was met with a chorus of ‘yeah’s’ and ‘yes’s’. “Good. Who else has something?”

Adam raised his hand. “I would like to have personal space respected at all times.”

Charles nodded. “That’s a good one.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Beetlejuice asked.

“It means no inappropriate or unwanted sexual advances and no touching people when they haven’t given you permission,” Delia answered him.

Beetlejuice’s head reeled back. “What?  _ Always? _ ”

“Yes,” Charles stated firmly.

That didn’t track. What if he needed to touch someone? Like what if Lydia was in danger and he needed to pull her out of the way? Or what if the Maitlands were there and just too sexy not to pinch? And what were the limits on this thing? Does that mean he can’t even touch someone’s fucking  _ hand _ without permission?

Barbara hummed. “How about no inappropriate touching without permission? No touching at all seems a little restrictive.” Satan bless that woman.

“Yeah, that seems like a lot,” Lydia added.

“I still like the part about no inappropriate sexual advances though,” Barbara added, placing her hand on Adam’s thigh.

“All personal and physical boundaries must be respected. Does that work?”

“I think there should be some exceptions,” Delia said. “Like when those boundaries put someone at risk.”

“When would that ever happen?” Lydia asked. “Like if I say don’t hug me when I’m working. That’s a boundary, right? And I can’t think of a time when someone would  _ need _ to hug me while doing homework.”

“Maybe there’s a hug monster after you and the only way to defeat it is to hug you,” Beetlejuice snarked, throwing an arm around Lydia and pulling her tightly as she feigned protest.

Unseen to either of them, Delia quirked a small smile at their antics. “Actually, I mean more along the lines of asking someone to keep certain information that puts that person or others in danger. I think we’ve all had some serious miscommunications in the past and I don’t think any of us want a repeat of that,” she added with a somewhat haunted look on her face and not the fun kind.

She seemed to jerk herself out of her thoughts and looked at Beetlejuice on the floor. “And I don’t just mean you, Beetlejuice.” He placed a hand on his chest and rubbed slightly at the tugging sensation he felt when she said his name. Breathers saying it was still so weird. “When Lydia said she was angry at us enough to want to jump off the roof, well.” She swallowed and gathered herself for a moment. “Well, we didn’t think she meant it and in the future we don’t want any boundaries or promises that make someone feel like they can’t get help when it’s needed.”

An uncomfortable silence settled on the group. Lydia looked at her lap and spun the ring she was wearing. “Beej stopped me and I’m doing better now,” she said, discomfort clear in her tone. This was no one’s favorite subject.

Charles cleared his throat. “I think several different issues were brought up just now and we should address them all separately. First, personal boundaries must be respected unless those boundaries put someone at risk. But, to Delia’s point we want open communication as well to prevent several unpleasant  _ incidents  _ from recurring. Those could be two separate house rules.”

That seemed fair, especially the communication one. He didn’t want to have to guide Lydia a second before it was her time. The personal boundaries thing still confused him but he’d get Lyds to explain it later. For the most part it seemed to be a standard  _ no touching other people’s naughty bits _ rule. Breathers were so concerned about that sort of thing.

“Agreed,” Delia said with Barbara and Adam echoing her.

“Perfect. Does anyone have anything else?”

The group remained silent. “Okay,” Charles said. “I think, for the sake of those of us who have to sleep, that there should be no loud noises past midnight. Any complaints? No? Perfect, I’ll write it down.

That made four rules, if Beetlejuice was keeping track correctly, and that was, in his opinion, four too many. He didn’t work well under restrictions — it reminded him of his mom.  _ No crying! Where the fuck were you, useless sack of shit? I told you to be back hours ago and you can’t even do that right. Ugh, and now your hair’s purple again. Pathetic _ .

“Uh, you good BJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hair’s gone all blue. What does that mean?”

“It looks more indigo,” Delia said.

He growled and ran his fingers through his hair. Like the shade of blue even mattered.

“Ooh!” Barbara chirped. “Now it’s red at the ends. What does that mean?”

“Whatever it means, can you please stop it? We’re trying to have a serious conversation here, Mr. Juice.”

He snarled and felt his hair continue to tingle. “Well, it’s not like I can control it, now can I Chuck?” he snarled.

“Be —” Delia cut Charles off by placing her hand on his arm.

“Now why don’t we all pause and take a deep breath,” she said.

He bared his fangs and was pleased when Delia’s eyes widened at the sight.  _ Good _ . Just then, Lydia punched him in the side with a sharp hook that he hadn’t expected out of her little noodle arms. She was frowning. Ah, not good then?

“In, one two three,” Delia said and Beetlejuice saw Lydia take a deep breath.

“Hold for five and release two three four five six seven good.” Lydia exhaled.

“Again.” Beetlejuice breathed in with Lydia, copying her despite neither needing to breath nor understanding by Delia was suddenly in charge of how they breathed.

They did this for three more cycles and Beetlejuice noticed that evn Charles and the Maitlands were following Delia’s instructions.

“Are we all good now?” 

Beetlejuice nodded. “So, why did we, uh…?”

Delia smiled brightly at him. “It’s one of my breathing exercises that I do with clients and select friends and family to help them calm down when their feelings just get to be a bit too much.”

What the hell did that mean? The only time Beetlejuice felt  _ too much _ were those forty panicked seconds or so when he was alive. 

“You seem like you’re feeling better,” she prodded.

He grunted. “Do you want to tell us what we did that upset you?” Delia asked, voice still all gentle and shit like she was talking to a child.

His eyes darted between the others. Charles looked uncomfortable as he fiddled with the pen in his hand and looked away when they made eye contact. Lydia was poking his leg with her pointy little fingers.

“Please?” Barbara asked with her big brown doe eyes.

“It would be a good chance to practice that good communication rule,” Adam added brightly.

They both looked so hopeful it was almost painful to watch. And Adam was right. They were allowing him to stay so long as he followed the rules. It would have made him happy were it not for the lingering certainty that this was all an elaborate trick that would end with him getting banished or exorcised.

“What color is it now?”

Lydia reached up and poked the side of his head. “It’s a deep purple now, like when we first saw you earlier. And when I first met you.”

“It's byzantium.”

“O...kay?”

“The color,” Delia chirped. “It’s byzantium.”

Beetlejuice stared blankly at her. So he just had to explain the hair thing and they’d move on and let him stay? The brief thought of refusing to explain passed through his head, but no. It was too soon to start rocking the boat.

“My hair. It’s connected to my emotions,” he managed to say after starting and stopping the sentence more than a few times. Talking about this was more painful than the time Balam decapitated him as a joke. And that hurt like a son of a bitch and it took him almost a year to regenerate his body to boot.

After it became clear more was not forthcoming, Delia prodded again, “So when you got upset it turned red?”

He nodded. Close enough.

“And why were you upset?”

Lydia, bless her, jumped to his defense. “Because Dad was being an ass about it,” she said, glaring at Charles.

Charles slammed his pen down on his notebook with more force than was strictly necessary. “I’m doing my best here Lydia. I’m allowing this…  _ man _ —”

“Not a man.”

“—allowing this man into my house against my better judgement and I am just trying to establish some ground rules so we don’t all kill each other before the night ends.”

“And how’s that going for you?” Lydia snarked. 

“ _ Lydia, _ ” Barbara scolded.

“Do we need to continue our breathing exercises?” Adam asked and somehow didn’t make it sound patronizing, but like it was a genuine question and concern for him.

Charles took a deep breath. “Let’s... let’s just finish this so we can all take a break and cool down.”

“I’m cool as ice Chucky,” Beetlejuice said, summoning a glass of iced tea with a sandworm-shaped umbrella in it. He leaned back and took a long sip.

Ignoring the antics, Charles continued, “No loud noises after midnight. What else?”

“I think we should add one about lying,” Barbara said after a few moments. Adam looked at her and tilted his head. “I just think a lot of issues could be avoided if everyone was honest.”

Lydia leaned back with a thump so she was now lying flat on the ground. “Isn’t that just the communication thing again?” she asked.

“I think it’s a little different,” Barbara said.

“Any protests?” Charles asked. No one replied.

Beetlejuice banished the glass back to his pocket dimension. He liked that rule, actually. It meant, so long as these rules continued to apply to everyone and not just him, that there wouldn't be any more of that fakey  _ aww we really like you Beetlejuice _ bullshit like last time. No more mean-hearted trickery and no more bait and switches.

Charles scribbled on his page again before turning it around to face everyone.

The page read:

  1. _No harming or threatening harm to others in the household, unless there is an emergency and measures must be taken to protect oneself or others_
  2. _All established personal and physical boundaries must be respected, except where they pose a risk to someone._
  3. _Honest communication is encouraged. Speak to someone before your issues become too big for you to handle._
  4. _No loud noises after midnight_
  5. _No malicious lying_



It looked like a pain in the ass, but nothing on there, barring the physical contact thing, looked too targeted or burdensome to follow. He mulled over it for a moment, but it seemed like a small price to pay to be allowed back with the rest of them.

Eternity could be a lonely place when most people couldn’t see you and those who did wanted nothing to do with you.

Beetlejuice couldn’t help the worry burrowing in the back of his mind that they were all still lying about allowing him to stay, but they were doing all of this just so he  _ would _ be allowed to stay, even when it was clear that they all had reservations about it. It was weird and it made the knot in his chest tighten whenever he thought about it too long.

He reached forward and snagged the paper, summoning a sparkly purple gel pen he was sure would bother Charles, who had probably never used anything other than black or blue ink, in his life and Lydia, who would consider it an affront to her gothic aesthetic. Donna would probably like it though. Maybe even Babs and Adam, but they were pretty committed to their boring fifties couple aesthetic who who knew?

With careful strokes he wrote on the page,  _ No saying my naym three tymes unles emergancee.  _ He hadn’t written anything since the 1800s and while he wouldn’t call himself illiterate- he wasn’t stupid, after all- he still wasn’t very good at it. (English was a bitch of a language to speak and writing it was even worse. It’s a shame he never got the chance to show off his stellar Hebrew or Demonic language skills.) He also would have preferred to specify no saying  _ his _ name three times unless it was an emergency, but his curse prevented him from writing down or spelling out his name, even in the widest of terms. He figured they’d still understand though, even if it wasn’t spelled out for them. Specificity in Contracts was important but it’d probably be fine in this case and it’s not like Lydia was going to try summoning a demon other than him anyways.

Charles nodded at the page. “Does everyone agree with these?” He was met with a chorus of yes’s and proceeded to sign his name at the bottom, passing the page and pen to Delia. 

Adam and Barbara looked on with matching eager faces, like the whole contract experience excited them. It probably did. They probably were the sort to write everything down in nice, neat little lists and would get all excited about it and show it off to all their friends.

Actually, they were  _ definitely _ those people. Beetlejuice remembered a chalkboard-corkboard combo from back before they died that they would write all their home improvement projects and potential hobbies on. It was so lame, and yet it didn’t make them any less sexy somehow.

Finally, the page made it to him and Beetlejuice stared at it for a moment. He was expected to sign this thing and yet he physically couldn’t write his name down, which was definitely a problem since Charles was still glaring at him like he killed and ate his cat in front of him and Beetlejuice was around 85% sure that the cat he ate last time he was here did  _ not _ belong to anyone here.

“Mr. Juice,” Charles said, a hint of warning in his tone.

He thought about it for another moment, before ah ha! A lightbulb went off above his head and Beeltejuice reached up and threw it into his mouth, savoring the crunchy sharpness, as he took one of the small glass shards and cut a small slit into his left palm.

“Beetlejuice!” Delia exclaimed as Lydia cried out “Beej! What’re you doing?” She reached forward and grabbed his hand, examining the cut.

“Calm down kid.” He took his hand back and pressed his right thumb into the small pool of blood and pressed it into the page. The sheet smoked for a moment, the words glowing a faint gold, before the smoke cleared.  _ There _ , now it was an official Demon Contract.

“Uh,” Lydia said with a slight laugh, “what the fuck was that.”

“Language,” Barbara chided absently, staring at the page with a bewildered expression.

Beetlejuice huffed and rolled his eyes. There was no pleasing these people. “It was a contract. I signed it. Now it’s a Contact,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly thick bunch of first graders. This was basic Demon 101 shit.

Charles reached a hand to his temple and rubbed it in small, slow circles “And you couldn't sign it with a pen because?”

“In case you forgot daddy-o, I can’t tell people my name and that includes writing it down.”

“But you showed us a card with your name written on it when we first met?” Adam asked, pushing his glasses back up from where they had once again slid down his nose when he was signing the contract.

“Yeah, I didn’t write that A-dog.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ ,” he said, feeling testier by the second.

“Are you okay with me signing your name on your behalf then, Mr. Juice? Next to your thumbprint, just so we all know it’s you.”

“Dad, I don’t think we’re going to forget that that’s Beej’s bloody fingerprint.”

Charles frowned. “Still,” he said. Satan, this man was such a stickler for the rules.

Beetlejuice shrugged. He honestly couldn’t care less at this point. The Contract was already signed and any edits made at this point weren’t valid. “As long as you spell it right.”

Reaching for the contract and taking the pen back from Lydia, Charles asked, “B-E-E-T-L-E-J-U-I-C-E?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Well how do you spell it then?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell ‘ya, Chuck.”

“You don’t know how to spell it?” he asked, face scrunching in disbelief and Beetlejuice was disgusted to note that the other’s faces were full of pity. ugh.

“ _ No _ . I know how to  _ spell _ it. I just can’t  _ say _ it.”

Barbara put her hand to her lips and furrowed her brows. “Then how can we spell your name correctly?”

“The card you gave us spelled it how Mr. Deetz spelled it,” Adam piped up.

“Seriously, Mr. Deetz? What is he, your schoolteacher?” Beetlejuice grinned as Adam’s face flushed. “Ooh,” he cajoled. “Is that what does it for you? Because I can  _ definitely _ be the sexy professor punishing the naughty naughty failing student for you.” He manifested himself on the couch next to Adam and swung an arm around his shoulders and looked Adam up and down as Adam sputtered and his cheeks became even more flushed.

Barbara placed her hand on Adam’s leg and glared. “Rule two.”

Beetlejuice reached over and picked up the page.  _ All established personal and physical boundaries must be respected, except where they pose a risk to someone.  _ “What about it?”

“No sexual harassment,” Barbara said.

That was  _ not _ what the contract specified and what the fuck was sexual harassment? He understood the words separately, but together they seemed to make something that got breathers all huffy and defensive.

“What boundary did I cross? No one said anything about not telling Adam how unbelievably sexy he is.” Adam had his face in his hands, but Beetlejuice could still see the flush that now reached all the way to his neck.

“It’s not that,” Adam groaned, voice muffled.

“It makes us uncomfortable when you touch us like that, Beetlejuice, so we’d like you to please stop.”

Adam was pulling away from Beetlejuice and he let him go, placing his hands back in his lap. “Like what?”

Barbara sighed. “Let’s go with no touching us at all for the moment, okay?”

“Like,  _ at all _ ?” That was… well that was going to be difficult.

They shared a look and did their couple telepathy thing again. Seriously, that was so cool. They turned back to him and Barbara said, “Yes, no touching unless we give you permission.”

He lightly snarled. “Ugh fine.” Beetlejuice appeared back beside Lydia and said, “Use your cellular telephonic and look up the second brightest star in the constellation Orion.”

“Cellular telephonic,” she repeated with an incredulous expression.

“Or whatever you call it nowadays.”

“A phone?”

“Whatever you wanna call it Scarecrow. Just look it up.”

“You’re pushy.”

“Your  _ face _ is pushy,” he snarked back, pushing at her face slightly, as she pulled out her phone and tapped at it, swatting his hand away. He peered over her shoulder at what she was doing. Breather technology was so cool these days. He had no idea how to use most of it, but as someone who grew up when people thought bad smells caused disease, he could certainly appreciate the appeal of having access to almost all information ever within your back pocket.

“Betelgeuse?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.  _ Seriously, _ don’t.”

“No. The second brightest star in Orion is Betelgeuse.”

Adam perked up. “Oh! I think I remember learning about that in my astronomy class in college. We pronounced it bet-el-goose though.”

Beetlejuice scrunched his nose. “Yeah, don’t say it like that. It’s weird.”

Charles made a gesture and Lydia passed her phone to him and Charles signed his name in his neat scrawl and clicked the pen closed with an air of finality. Beetlejuice peered at the page with open interest. It had been a long time since he’d seen his name written down  _ properly _ and even longer since he’d seen it written on a Demon Contract. They weren’t really his style- too many constraints and legalese. They were good for getting out of trouble when properly summoned though, not that  _ that _ had happened since the Dark Ages and even then the last time a summoning got him in any serious danger was the turn of the millennia, back when he was too young and stupid to know how to navigate the whole situation.

For the first time Beetlejuice had ever seen, Charles smiled softly and some of the tension released from his shoulders. “Perfect, now that’s done and I say we all deserve a long night’s sleep after such a long day.”

He stood and helped Delia off the couch and the pair walked towards the staircase. As they reached the bottom, Delia turned around and said, “I’ll set some clean clothes for you to sleep in on the guest room bed. Feel free to use the shower.”

Beetlejuice nodded. He had no intention of using the shower and was hesitant about wearing something other than his suit but it was nice of her to offer.

“I think we’ll turn in for the evening too,” Adam said as he and Barbara got up and headed towards what Beetlejuice assumed was the attic.

Turning towards Lydia with a wide grin, he asked, “What now, kid? We’ve got the run of the house.”

Lydia stood with a yawn. “What, now? It’s midnight, loser. I’m going to bed.”

“What?” he whined, perhaps too loud for the rules because they heard a call of  _ inside voices after midnight _ from upstairs. He  _ was _ inside though, what else voice would he be using? That made no sense.

“I’m going to bed, Beej. We have all day to hang out tomorrow.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do while you’re all sleeping and boring?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know it’s a crazy thought but maybe, just maybe,  _ you _ could sleep too. Shocking, I know.”

She was such a sarcastic little shit and Beetlejuice loved her for it.

She took an exaggerated sniff. “And take a shower while you’re at it. You smell like mold.” 

Lydia turned to head upstairs herself. “I smell amazing and you know it,” he called after her. 

“Good night Beetlejuice!”

And with that he was alone downstairs, seated with full permission to be there. There was a formal Contract and everything.

Beetlejuice looked around the room, still sitting on the floor and feeling all the more out of sorts for being left alone. This morning they would have just as soon have banished him back to the Netherworld and now he was trusted enough to be left (relatively) alone in their house. No monitoring, no threats, just a signed piece of paper and his word to follow it.

Even Charles had allowed him inside, which was more than he ever thought possible, even in his more indulgent daydreams.

With a small frown, Beetlejuice stood up and made his way upstairs only to be greeted with a cheerful-looking Delia handing him a pile of clothes, which he took with a confused noise and tilted head.

“I was able to find some of Charles' old things that he doesn’t wear anymore. I wasn’t sure what you wear to sleep in, but I figured this would do for tonight and it has to be more comfortable than that suit of yours,” she chirped.

He blinked at her, eyes wide. She… got him clothes? Just to make him more comfortable? That was, hm. He didn’t know how to feel about that one. There had to be an ulterior motive, but for the death of him he couldn't see how letting him borrow an old t-shirt and sweatpants would benefit her in any way. Unless she was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Yeah, he thought, that had to be it.

Let him think she cared about him, let him become secure and comfortable before stabbing him in the back again, broken trust making the betrayal all the more painful.

He growled softly under his breath. He wasn’t going to be tricked so easily a second time. Fool me once, sure, but he wouldn’t be fooled again.

“Uhh, Beetlejuice? Everything alright?”

The demon in question looked up from his musings to see Delia’s concerned face. He smiled wide, feeling one of his fangs get caught on his lip and break the fragile skin open. Oh well, at least Delia wouldn’t be able to see it from where his glamor was keeping some of his more off-putting demonic features under wraps.

Humans had the strange tendency to frighten, and not in the fun way, when his pranks and mayhem were combined with his fangs, red and claw-tipped fingers, and yellow slitted snake eyes. 

“Of course- I’m here having a sleepover with my best buddy and there’s a whole Contract and everything saying I’m allowed to stay. Everything is just peachy keen, Delilah.”

“Delia.”

“Sure.”

They stared at each other for another moment, each silent.

Beetlejuice cleared his throat. “So, we good here?”

Delia’s face scrunched into an emotion that he couldn’t name before saying softly, “Your hair is red around the edges.”

Beetlejuice reached and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling it down to where he could just see it. Damn his hair for not being just a few centimeters longer so he could properly see what it was doing. 

He grunted. “Yeah, it does that.”

“Last time it was red you seemed upset and the time before  _ that _ you were trying to kill everyone in the house.”

That confirmed it. There was no way she was just over all that, no matter what her peace offering from moments before and general demeanor from all night indicated.

He forced a chuckle. “Yeah, it does that. Doesn’t mean anything.”

She hummed, doubt clouding her features. “Right, well. The guest bedroom is down the hall and everything is already made up for you. There’s also a bathroom attached if you wanted to, uh, clean up a bit. And we could send your suit to the cleaners too, if you wanted.”

His suit? “My suit?”

“Yes,” she hesitated, pursing her lips, before continuing with halting words, “it seems to be a bit moldy and growing moss.”

He laughed at that and felt his hair tingle, likely turning back green. Humans and their sensitivities were so funny. They see a little bit of dirt and mold and think they’ll get the plague. But, then again, this makes two people who’ve told him that he needs to clean up in a matter of as many minutes. Was bathing part of the house rules? No, he signed the Contract himself and hadn’t sensed anyone trying to make changes to it since he’d left it downstairs.

He didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of scrubbing his hard-earned layers of dirt and debris off, but, on the other hand, he was already testing the limits of everyone’s patience just by existing here in the first place and this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on (ha! Pun not intended) and if taking a shower would make things easier, then he was willing to try it.

Ugh, disgusting. He was  _ not _ looking forward to it.

“Fine.”

“Really?” Delia asked, surprise evident in her tone. “I mean, that’s wonderful. Just leave it out for me and I’ll take it to the cleaners tomorrow. We can get a rush order put on it so you’ll have it back in no time.:

“What? No. No cleaning the suit but I’ll shower if it means that much to you.”

That stopped Delia short, who looked off-kilter for the first time that day. 

“Right, well, okay them. Let me know if you need help with the shower, but I think I’ll let you get settled in otherwise. Goodnight, Beetlejuice.”

“Night,” he said back as she disappeared back into her own room, surprised at the easy acquiescence on her part. She seemed pretty excited about cleaning the suit when he brought it up and he hadn’t expected her to back down that easily, or at all.

He walked down the hall, past what was clearly Lydia’s door, marked with all sorts of signage that indicated that entering without knocking would result in either forcible castration or a sharp uppercut to the jaw. Good for her, stick it to the man!

Walking into the guest room, he was thrown off kilter once again. Logically he knew that neither the Deetz nor Maitlands wouldn’t tolerate any unkempt spaces in their house, but this room was even nicer than most of the rooms in Juno’s mansion. Of course, she had only ever allowed him to stay in the rooms abandoned to squalor, but still.

It was boring in a way that screamed of the Maitlands, but it was neat and orderly with no cobwebs or rotted out flooring to be seen. There was a dresser off to one side and a mounted TV that he had no intention or knowledge of how to use.

He walked in and placed the gifted clothes on the bed and sniffed at the air, flicking his tongue out in tandem. The air tasted and smelled faintly of chemicals, a cloying artificial lavender scent. Disgusting. How was that any better than the natural scents of dirt and moss and leaves?

He shook his head of the thoughts. It didn’t matter. He was staying with humans now and he had to abide by their rules, no matter how much they grated on him.

Disrobing and laying the suit out on the bed, Beetlejuice started and stepped into the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain and stared at the knobs and handles on the side of the shower wall. It had been years since he’d bathed and he’d never done so in a house before. Previously, it had been all streams and rivers with their icy needles digging into his skin.

It did seem self-explanatory, fortunately, and Beetlejuice turned the knob to make the water run as he stepped in. It was cold, but not the same bone-aching chill he associated with becoming clean.

He stared at the bottles in the little racking. Why were there so many? He picked one up and opened the lid, sniffing at it. He flicked his tongue out again, the forked appendage acting like a snake’s, dissecting scents and chemical traces that humans could never hope to perceive, and he spat onto the floor of the tub, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He would never understand why humans needed to put so many foul chemicals into everything. Beetlejuice looked at the writing on the bottle, quickly giving up that pursuit. His grasp of the written language could best be described as weak on a good day and the stress of today made reading these unfamiliar words a near insurmountable task at the moment.

Beetlejuice picked up each bottle in turn and smelled each of them before deciding that the least offensive one was the pink liquid with cherries on the label. He spun the cap off and froze. The water was warming up? He smiled.  _ Ah _ , he thought, this must be why humans had started bathing so much in the last century. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that in addition to finally discovering how to bring running water indoors, that they might have invented a way to warm it up too.

He tilted his head back into the flowing stream and relished the feeling in a way that he never had before, allowing himself a few moments of peace before using the pink gel stuff to scrub all the dirt layers off of his skin.

There was nothing he could do about the moss growing on the edges of his face and littering his torso and joints, but it did look slightly greener and healthier as the water ran over it. After several rounds of soap and soaking himself, the water stopped running murky brown and finally he was as clean as he could reasonably make himself and he turned off the water and dried himself off.

He actually felt… good? His skin felt clean and was pink in a way that made him seem alive. That was definitely unexpected. Maybe he’d do this shower thing more often if  _ these _ were the results and if there continued to be warm water instead of the chill he was accustomed to. The soap still made him reel back in disgust whenever he picked up on it, but the overall experience wasn’t as bad as history had taught him to expect.

Beetlejuice stepped back into the room that was his for the moment and laid down on the bed after putting on the clothes Delia had left for him, not bothering to turn back any of the covers. He was a demon. Sleep wasn’t necessary and he had no intentions of sleeping that night. Anything could happen if he let his guard down like that, especially when there were about a thousand things he needed to be thinking on and preparing for.

He started the ceiling and mapped out the subtle imperfections best he could in the darkness. He’d just found one that looked a bit like Orion if his head was decapitated when Beetlejuice felt his eyes start to droop. Maybe resting for a little bit couldn’t hurt, he thought distantly. It had been a long day and, really, what could it hurt? He allowed himself to relax against the soft covers, thinking that the pillow was remarkably soft, before his eyes shut, almost against his will, and within seconds the calm blankness of sleep overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed it please drop a comment or kudos!


	4. Demons and Ghosts and Spirits, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring: snakes, snakes, spirits, and more snakes!

While sleep often came slowly to Lydia, like the gradual but inexorable changing of the tides, wakefulness always came like a sucker punch to the face with no warning before she was fully awake, eyes wide and mind racing.

She flopped to her side and pawed at the clock sitting on her nightstand. 6am. Ugh, what a perfectly unreasonable time to be awake- the sun wouldn’t even be up for another hour. She settled back down ad was halfway to dozing before perking back up.

_ Beetlejuice was here _ . 

She threw off her covers and raced to the door before stopping herself. It wouldn’t do to wake everyone else up this early, but he’d already said that he didn’t sleep so at least she could bother her weird rat-faced demon friend before anyone else had the chance to harass him yet today. Not that he didn’t deserve it, the  _ bastard _ , she thought fondly. But still, she wanted to be first in line

She cracked open the door and squinted into the darkness. No one’s lights were on.  _ Perfect _ . Slipping down the hallway, she made it to the guest room door and cracked it open, peering inside. It was dark inside as well, which wasn’t what she was expecting.

Shrugging at the thought, she threw the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. The bed looked ruffled, like Beej had been there, but it was inexplicably missing said demon.

The connected bathroom produced similar results. 

Frowning slightly, she headed downstairs. Maybe he was pilfering the fridge? Or the garbage? The latter seemed more likely. He had an unusual fondness for food that any sane person would consider waste or inedible at best.

No luck. 

Lydia hovered in the doorway, watching Delia putter around at the kitchen counter for a moment as she tried to think of where Beetlejuice could have gone. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her dad before he pecked a kiss on her forehead.

“Morning, sweetie.”

“Morning,” she replied.

Delia looked up with a smile. “Oh! Lydia, I didn’t see you there. Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Lydia said. “Have you guys seen Beej yet today?”

Charles frowned and grunted. “No. I was honestly hoping it was all a bad dream and when I woke up he’d be gone,” he said, chuckling humorlessly as he walked over and kissed Delia on the cheek, who smiled back at him as she continued pouring pancake batter onto the griddle.

“Did you check the guest room?” Delia asked.

“Yeah. He wasn’t there. Do you,” she hesitated, not sure her parents would give her question the due concern it warranted, but she persevered nonetheless, “do you think something happened to him?”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He’s like a bad penny- bound to turn up eventually!” Delia laughed, placing Lydia’s plate on the table and motioning her to sit.

“Hopefully not,” Charles muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Lydia managed a small laugh at Delia’s attempt to lighten the mood as she walked to the table and sat down, her face still drawn in concern.

She ate mechanically as Delia and Charles kept up a steady stream of conversation between the two of them, something about the house they were showing later and mortgages and other boring adult stuff no one actually cares about but discusses anyways. Eventually she was poking at the last bite of food, methodically scraping it from side to side on the plate.

“Lydia?” Charles asked. She hummed.

“Lyds?”

Lydia looked up at him. His eyes were furrowed and he looked concerned. “Is everything alright?”

She sighed, placing the fork down on the table. “It’s just Beetlejuice,” she started, but hesitated, unsure how to finish the thought.

Charles opened and closed his mouth a few times before groaning in mild frustration before saying, “You know how hard he was to get rid of the last time.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m sure he’ll turn up again soon enough. Just give it time. He probably got tired of being here when the rest of us were sleeping. He doesn’t seem the sort capable of sitting around doing nothing.”

“That’s right,” Delia agreed. “It has to get boring being around a bunch of sleeping people. And, besides, the universe brought us together twice now and that can't be a coincidence,” she chirped.

“It could be,” Charles said hopefully, but had the decency to look chagrined at Lydia’s disapproving look.

Delia hummed a single note that indicated her doubts.

Lydia looked at her plate in deep thought, as if the leftover syrup and single pancake piece held the answers to the universe. It was a lot to ask out of the breakfast remains and they failed to live up to her high hopes for them.

“You’re probably right,” she said at length.

Delia and Charles exchanged a look that went unnoticed by the moody teen.

“But…?” Charles prompted.

Lydia raised a hand to her nose and sniffled before coughing to cover the noise. “But what if he doesn’t come back?”

“Lydia —”

The words spilled out of her like a dam bursting. “Like what, what if he’s gone for good? Like, he went back to the Netherworld and never wants to come back?” Her voice cracked and a tear spilled down her cheek. “What if he doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore? Or, or, or he decided he didn’t want to put up with m- with us anymore and he went to the Netherworld and he’s never going to come back? Just like Mom?” she finished in a rush, tears overflowing.

“Oh, Lydia,  _ Lydia _ ,” Delia soothed, scooting closer to her and wrapping an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, pulling her in close.

Charles reached out a hand and grasped Lydia’s own hand in his own, a protective embrace, as tears continued streaming down her face and she sniffled pathetically. “This isn’t like that at all. Emily… Emily passed on. She didn’t want to, but we knew it was coming. He took a deep breath and released it through clenched teeth, before continuing in a softer tone that she expected, “Mr. Juice... Beetlejuice obviously cares for you very deeply.  _ Sometimes too deeply,”  _ he muttered under his breath as Delia swatted at him and glared.

“Sorry dear,” he said to her. “But I don't think he’d just leave for good after all that. We all suffered through the rules last night and he wouldn't have done that if he didn’t plan on sticking around.”

Lydia’s sniffles slowed as she tried to calm her heaving breaths.

Delia rubbed her arms. “There, there. It’s alright now. Your dad is right. I don’t think we’ll be getting rid of him that easy.”

They all sat for several moments longer as Lydia calmed herself down. Nothing was more embarrassing than crying in front of people, especially greasy old demons like her parents, she thought to herself, but the joke didn’t particularly help. It was  _ her _ greasy old demon that was gone and what if she never saw him again? 

The thought of summoning him didn’t cross her mind, but just then there was a  _ pop _ and a certain demon was hovering above the kitchen table with a wide-mouthed grin and bright green hair, causing Delia to yelp in Lydia’s ear ( _ ouch!) _ Charles to rear back, raising a hand to his chest with a surprised  _ damnit _ !

“Lydia, look!” Beetlejuice yelled, shoving a handful of black and white striped snakes in her face.

Lydia laughed despite herself, pawing at her face to remove any lingering tear-tracks. “What the fuck are those, dumbass?”

Beetlejuice released the snakes, allowing them to fall into a squirming pile on the table. Charles’ chair screeched as he pushed himself away from the table as fast as he could and if Lydia didn’t know any better she would say Delia had teleported herself across the room with how fast she moved to the other side.

“Me, obviously!”

“You? These are snakes.” She picked one up out of the pile and brought it to her face, peering into its eyes. It flicked an inquisitive tongue out as it inspected her right back. “And you’re not a snake, BJ. Even if you’re a slime-ball like them.” 

She stroked the snakes back and discovered that it actually wasn’t slimy, even if Beetlejuice definitely still was. Though, she thought, looking at him a bit closer. He looked  _ far _ cleaner than he had last night. She subtly sniffed the air. And he smelled better too, even if some lingering traces of earthy smell remained. And sweat. Gross.

“Au contraire,” he grinned, gathering up a few of the snakes and cradling them close to his chest, cooing at them softly.

“What —” Charles started, eyeing the snakes with clear distrust.

Beetlejuice barreled on. “I had a guide in Australia! Poor fucker fell into a nest of these babies and, well, the rest is history.”

Charles jerked his head towards the floating demon at this.

“ _ Cool,” _ Lydia exclaimed. “Do you think we could keep some of them as pets?”

“Sure, kid! They’re perfect for scaring people too.”

“Now hold on a minute here,” Charles said. “Did you say these snakes  _ killed _ somebody.”

Beetlejuice continued stroking one of the snakes he was holding as two of them wriggled their way up his arms and one was hanging off of his lap where he was sat criss-cross in the air. He cocked his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“And you brought them  _ here _ ?”

Beetlejuice tilted his head to the other side. “Yeah?”

Charles threw a hand out to the side, incredulous. “And you don’t see a problem with that?” he all but screeched.

“...no?”

Lydia snorted in laughter, quickly turning away in faux innocence at Charles’ glare.

“Of all the irresponsible—!” he started.

“Charles,” Delia interrupted, shaking her head.

Delia took a deep breath before steepling her hands to her face and lowering them with forced calmness. “Beetlejuice, these snakes are venomous? Yes?” Beetlejuice nodded. “Meaning they’re deadly?” 

“I mean, yeah, obviously. They just killed that poor mofo in Australia. Like g’day mate, hope you like Hell! It’s even hotter than you are,” he cackled.

“Gross,” Lydia said. Beetlejuice winked at her.

“ _ Meaning _ , they could kill any one of us, including Lydia.”

Beetlejuice hummed, taking the snake from Lydia’s hands and looking it in the eyes with a smile that screamed danger. “Not if they know what’s good for them,” he said, each word laced with threat and promise of delivery.

He threw the snake back at Lydia who caught it with a surprising amount of grace as it flailed mid-air. “Besides, these little guys are bandy-bandy snakes.”

He was met with blank faces. “Oh, wow, look at all of you. I forget how little breathers know about demons sometimes.” One of the snakes slithered to the side of the table and dropped to the floor, causing Charles to gather his legs into his chair and send a hateful look that Beetlejuice missed.

“Demons all have an animal that sort of represents them. Like, we look like that animal and vice versa. Rams, toads, wolves,  _ snakes _ ,” he said, raising one of the smaller snakes into the air.

“Oh!” Delia exclaimed.” Is that why you both have black and white stripes?” She gestured to his suit.

“Bingo!” he exclaimed. “Well, sort of. I don’t  _ have _ to wear the stripes, but I like it,” he shrugged, “And might as well since for all intents and purposes I  _ am _ a band-bandy snake.”

“You don’t  _ look _ like a bandy-bandy snake,” Lydia challenged.

He threw another snake at her. “Well not  _ now _ , but I  _ can _ . And these guys are  _ my  _ animal. So we have a connection.” He wriggled his fingers at Lydia in an attempt to make it sound spooker. “And Chuckles, you have my word that none of these guys would dare bite any of you. We had a talk before coming here.”

“You  _ talk _ to them?” Charles said accusingly as Lydia echoed his words in a delighted tone.

“Uh,  _ duh _ , Scarecrow.” He pointed at the first one Lydia had picked up, which was now curled up in her arms. “That one is named Sandy.”

“They have names?” Delia asked, perking up. “What’s that one’s name?” She pointed to the one that had curled up beside Charles’ chair.

“Uhhhh, Roberta?”

Lydia kept stroking Sandy as she gave Beetlejuice her best bitch face. “You sure about that?”

The demon in question threw his arms up. “Well I don’t know Ly-di-a!” he said, sarcastically enunciating every syllable in her name. “They don’t exactly speak English. I’m trying to translate snakey thoughts into words and it’s not an exact science.”

“You… you telepathically communicate with snakes?” Charles asked.

Beetlejuice shrugged. “Sort of,” he said with a hand-wavey gesture that Lydia assumed was meant to communicate  _ it’s hard to explain _ .

“Right. Well, hmm. Can you please send them back to Australia now?” Charles asked, slowly removing his legs from off the chair while distrustfully eyeing the snake curled up beside the front legs.

Lydia cradled Sandy closer to her chest. “What? No! They’re cute.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice echoed. “We’re cute!”

Lydia glared. “I didn’t say anything about  _ you _ .”

Beetlejuice summoned a knife and stabbed it into his chest, dropping down onto the table and sprawling out. “Babes! You wound me! How shall I ever recover?” he added, throwing a hand over his face in a pantomime that reminded Lydia of a dramatic opera performer.

“Please get off the table, Mr. Juice.” Beetlejuice didn’t move, too busy pretending to be dead.

Delia walked over and reached a tentative hand out to one of the snakes who flicked out an inquisitive tongue, tickling her fingers. She giggled slightly. “They  _ are _ kind of cute, in a gross Beetlejuice-esque way I suppose.”

“See?  _ We’re _ cute,” Beetlejuice said pointedly, abandoning the pretense of death as he hopped off the table, which was now covered in around a dozen curious bandy-bandys.

“Dad,  _ please _ , can we just keep one? I mean, look at her,” Lydia pleaded, holding Sandy out for her father’s inspection. 

He made a noncommittal noise and reached down to pick up the snake on the floor and throwing it none too gently onto the table.

“ _ Hey _ — ” Beetlejuice protested, losing his smile for the first time since he arrived.

Delia’s voice overlapped him. “Be nice. It’s not their fault they’re here and they feel pain just like the rest of us.”

Charles sighed, like this was an argument he didn’t want to have so early in the morning. And Lydia was sure that was the case. Delia and her veganism wasn’t a debate in the household, per say, but they’d had more animal-rights and activism discussions in the past few months than they’d had their entire lives before meeting her. “Sorry, dear,” he said to Delia. He looked at the snake that was in his face and looked at Lydia’s pleading eyes, remembering her breakdown from just a few minutes ago. Maybe if he allowed her to keep the snake then when the demon inevitably left she would be less heart broken. “Fine.”

“I promise to take good care of her and BJ can teach me what she needs and wait ,” she cut herself off. “Wait. Did you say yes?”

Charles nodded. “Yes, but if there is even a hint that that snake—”

“Sandy.”

“...Sandy might bite someone then it’s—”

“She.”

“ _ Lydia _ .”

“Sorry.”

“Then she’s gone.”

Charles found himself enveloped in a bear hug and Lydia kissed his cheek as she then darted off to the staircase, calling back for Beetlejuice to follow her.

“Wait a moment, Mr. Juice.”

Beetlejuice sniggered. 

Charles turned to Lydia. “He’ll be up in a minute. Go on.” 

Lydia nodded. “Meet me in my room when you’re done, Beej.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

“And Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Be nice.”

“Always,” he smiled. They watched as Lydia climbed the stairs and disappeared from view.

“Now, Mr. Juice,” Charles started as Beetlejuice laughed again, feeling his muscles clench as his tension continued to climb.

“Seriously, that’s never going to get old.”

“I’d like to have word with you about something important and would appreciate it if you would take this conversation seriously.”

Beetlejuice’s smile dropped as he met Charles’ eyes, red flickering at the ends of his hair. “You kickin’ me out already? I haven’t broken any of your dumb rules  _ Chuck _ .”

“Please get rid of the snakes so we can talk.”

“No. Say what you’re gonna say.”

Charles’ jaw clenched. “You—” Delia silenced him with a soft hand on his shoulder.

“No one’s kicking you out Beetlejuice. I think Charles just wanted to talk about something that happened while you were gone this morning, right dear?” Charles nodded. “And I think we’d both be a bit more comfortable if we talked without all of your snakes everywhere. Consider it a boundary, if you’d like. No snakes during serious talks?” she said with a gentle smile.

Beetlejuice’s hair returned to its normal shade as he visibly calmed himself. Charles looked at his wife with what have been hearts in his eyes if these were an animated TV show. Where Charles excelled at facts and getting things done, Delia always knew just the right thing to say in any situation and Charles loved that about her. 

“Rule two?” he asked.

She nodded. “Rule two.”

“Fine, give me a minute,” he said, collecting his dozen or so snakes and disappearing without a word, reappearing a few minutes later. “Had to get them settled back in their nest, '' he explained at Delia’s questioning expression. She nodded, stated.

Delia pulled out the seat Lydia previously occupied and indicated Beetlejuice should take a seat as well, which he did with great reluctance.

“Right. Charles?” 

Charles visibly gathered himself as he looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact. “Right. Hmm. Well, it’s become clear to me recently that you are very important to Lydia.”

Beetlejuice reeled back slightly, eyes widening. “No shit?”

Glaring, Charles continued. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“ _ Charles, _ ” Delia scolded.

Charles sighed and continued. Why did this conversation have to be so difficult? “While you were gone this morning, Lydia expressed… concerns that perhaps you weren’t planning on returning.”

Beetlejuice said nothing for a moment, frowning slightly, eye clouding into an expression neither Delia nor Charles had ever seen out of him before and Charles was a big enough man to admit that he found it unsettling.

Tilting his head to the side in a move that reminded Charles of a dog, he asked, “Why wouldn’t I come back? We signed a Contract and everything. I obey the rules and I get to stay.”

Delia’s brows furrowed as she murmured “ _ Contract?” _ under her breath.

Charles looked at her for a moment before deciding to return to that, forgive the turn of phrase, snake pit later. Contract or House Rules. It was the same thing, whatever you decided to call it.

He clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly, looking like the professional businessman he was, even at 7am on a Sunday while still wearing his sleeping clothes and talking to a greasy and remarkably child-like demon.

“After Lydia’s mom passed on she became very concerned about the possibility of people leaving her. That they would either just disappear out of her life one day or that they would,” Charles continued, making a hand gesture that indicated he wanted someone else to fill in what he wanted to say, but neither Delia nor Beetlejuice seemed included to relieve him of his burden and he continued, “...die.”

“I’m already dead.”

“We know, but you can still  _ leave _ , return to the Netherworld or wherever else you go when you’re not here. Australia, for example.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “Nah, Australia’s too hot and their accent’s weird. I’m cool here.”

“Yes,” he said, feeling a headache coming on. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Lydia’s concerned that one day you might leave again.”

“Hey! Last time wasn’t my fault,” Beetlejuice argued, voice rising but without true anger.

“We know,” Delia said, placing a hand on his arm. “But that doesn’t make her any less worried.” She and Charles did that couple telepathy thing that Beetlejuice had seen the Maitlands do before. “And this morning she was crying because she thought you left for good.”

Beetlejuice was frozen, expression blank like a loading screen as he tried to process the impossible things the Deetz were saying, but they had no reason to lie to him, especially over something that was to  _ Beetlejuice’s _ advantage: Lydia wanting him to stay.

At last he stated, “I don’t get it.”

“Get what, Mr. Juice?”

“We signed a Contract, Chuck. A Contract that says I’m allowed to stay here as long as I follow the rules. Why would I put myself in that position unless I  _ wanted _ to stay?”

Delia reached out to clasp Beetlejuice’s hands before pausing and seeming to think better of it. “Fear isn’t always logical and Lydia is only fifteen. She still has a lot of emotional growing to do.”

Beetlejuice hummed. “So whaddya want me to  _ do  _ about it?”

“Nothing,” Charles said. “Just… be there. Don’t leave without letting her know.”

Beetlejuice leered, “Aw, Chuckie. You want me to stay? Well, hot stuff, all you had to do was ask!” He winked and blew Charles a kiss, laughing at the disgusted look that prompted.

“ _ No _ . I just want you to prepare Lydia if and when you plan on leaving, even though it quite unfortunately appears that you’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Looking uncharacteristically serious, Beetlejuice said, “I wouldn’t just up and leave her Chuckles. She’s my BFFFF and I take that position seriously.”

“We didn’t you would, but we just wanted to make sure,” Delia added. 

The table was silent for a moment as Beetlejuice absentmindedly scratched a line into the table with his claw. “Scarecrow really cried?”

Charles nodded. “Oh,” Beetlejuice whispered to himself.

Abruptly, Beetlejuice stood up. “Well, I guess I better, you know.”

He pointed upstairs and moved to leave before Delia stopped him saying, “One more moment, please. What did you mean by contract?” Beetlejuice made a questioning noise. “ You said you signed a contract with us. Did you mean the rules we made last night?

“Oh, yeah. Totes. We all signed it and thus the Contract was sealed lest ye forfeit your immortal soul yadda yadda yadda. Later losers, I gotta go snake hunting!” He threw a smoke bomb on the ground as Charles called out for him to wait.

Beetlejuice groaned and refrained from teleporting himself to Lydia’s room. “What?”

“We signed a contract with you?” A nod. “Like, like how you sign a contract with a demon for your soul kind of contract?” Another nod. Charles sputtered, face turning red as he tried to find his words.

Beetlejuice only laughed. “Calm down Chuck. You didn’t sign away your soul or anything. I mean, why would I want that anyways? You didn’t agree to anything beyond what’s on the paper.”

Still seething, Charles ground out, “ _ Explain. _ ” The tone brokered no argument, which made Beetlejuice kind of want to argue back, but honestly he’d rather be with Lydia right now and arguing would just prolong this increasingly painful conversation.

However, that didn’t stop Beetlejuice from groaning dramatically and flopping back into a chair. “Okay, look. We all sat down and agreed to follow the rules, right? Exactly what’s on the page?” They nodded. “We all signed it, including me. Not everything I sign becomes a Demon Contract, but I made this one a formal Contract.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us this at the time?” Charles asked, incredulous.

“I’m telling you now, now aren’t I? Anyways, because it’s a formal Contract I literally cannot knowingly and intentionally break or attempt to circumvent the rules without being banished back to the Netherworld, which is really to all of _your_ advantages, might I add. But on the flip side, if any of you knowingly and intentionally break the rules, the contract becomes null and void. This is more of an issue with signing a Contract with a demon who wants nothing more than to kill you, aka _not_ _me_ , but in this case, it doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

Delia and Charles digested this for a moment. “That… doesn’t sound as bad as I was imagining,” Charles eventually said.

“Exactly! I did y’all a favor!”

“I wouldn’t call it a  _ favor _ exactly, but it does bring me some degree of… comfort, knowing that you can’t intentionally harm any of us.”

Rude. “Not that I  _ would _ ,” Beetlejuice added.

“Recent history suggests otherwise,” Charles retorted, which. Fair.

“Fine, but it also means that you can’t hurt  _ me  _ either, Chuckles, because that Contract formally made me part of the Maitland-Deetz household! So no exorcisms for you,” he added with a grin.

Delia stood, gathering the dishes on the table. “That seems only fair,” she said, walking to the sink, effectively signaling the end of the conversation.

Beetlejuice raised his fingers to snap himself away, but Delia stopped him when she said, “By the way, Beetlejuice, you clean up well.”

He felt a blush rise up to his checks and his hair began to turn bright pink. “Awesome, thanks. Perfect, glad we had this talk, but not really,” Beetlejuice said in a rush, snapping his fingers and disappearing, presumably to Lydia’s room.

Delia and Charles exchanged a look full of meaning that none but the two of them could explain.

Beetlejuice appeared in Lydia’s room, causing her to jolt a bit when the demon appeared with no warning at the end of her bed. She was still holding Sandy, gently stroking her with a tenderness Beetlejuice hadn’t expected from the angsty teen.

She was different than when he’d last seen her. She was more centered now, inwardly focused. Before she was lashing out at anyone and everyone, taking all the parts of herself that hurt and shoving the broken shards in everyone’s faces, saying  _ here! Here I am! Aren’t you happy now? _

But now she seemed more collected. Like she took those sharp corners and edges and found a way to sand them down, making them easier for her to hold. Time has a way of doing that, Beetlejuice thought. It turns jagged stones into smooth pebbles as the tides pass over then day after day and it does the same with the sharper emotions as well. The good ones too, but Beetlejuice had lived long enough to know that for each painful and pleasant memory dulled, you picked up half a dozen more.

Life had a way of doing that, just  _ continuing _ . Even after you die, it’s still not over. The river keeps rushing and the stones keep piling up. He’d rather lost track of the metaphor, but that was life too, and the point was still there. Beetlejuice had left for several months and had some back to a calmer Lydia, whose jagged rocks had been dulled just enough to make them bearable to hold again. He hoped that some of his had been ground down enough to be bearable as well.

Beetlejuice was proud of her, though. He had a blast hanging out with her last time he was here, but he still hadn’t forgotten that she was moments away from entering the Netherworld as a permanent resident.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts and focused on Lydia who was giving him a rather strange look that he didn’t understand. Whatever, breathers were weird and she’d tell him if it was important.

“We need to get Sandy a tank set up?” she prompted.

What was she on about? Oh, yeah. The little bandy-bandy he gave her. That was easy enough. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and a 50 gallon fish tank appeared on her bedroom floor.

“Is that big enough?”

Beetlejuice shrugged. “I dunno, probably. She’s still a little thing.”

Lydia stared at the tank before pulling out her phone and tapping on it. Beetlejuice leaned forward and peered at what she was typing.

She was googling care for bandy-bandy snakes. Which was rude, first of all, because it was  _ his _ animal. But also really smart since he didn’t actually know how to care for one. The little fuckers normally managed just fine on their own without his interference.

He again thought how cool it was that breathers these days could just look something up like that, not that he had more than the barest knowledge of how to use a smartphone or most modern technology, for that matter. You spend most of your time in the Netherworld for a few decades and they go and change everything on you! He’d have to ask Lyds to teach him how to use her cellular telephonic later. No, wait, it was called  a  _ cell phone _ now. English was lame.

“Nothing,” Lydia scowled. “It doesn’t say  _ anything _ about how to care for bandy-bandy snakes because  _ apparently _ they’re not meant to be pets.”

“Ehh, don’t worry about it. I think she’ll be happy no matter what we do.”

Lydia still looked concerned. “Are you sure? I don’t want to keep her here if she wants to go. I mean, I obviously  _ want _ her here, but, like, I’m not going to  _ make _ her stay if she wants to leave.”

Beetlejuice blinked at the heavy-handed metaphor he didn’t think Lydia realized she was spewing all over the place. Then again, if he hadn’t just had a heart-to-heart with Chuckles downstairs he didn’t think he would have realized it either.

They locked eyes and said with uncharacteristic sincerity, “Scarecrow, that snake is going to be the happiest it’s ever been in its life, right here, with you. I’ll make sure of it. And if she’s even  _ not _ happy, then I’ll let you know. ‘Kay?

Lydia looked down and swallowed heavily before pawing at her eyes and saying, “That was so cringe.”

“Your face is cringe.”

“Your  _ mom _ is cringe.” Lydia gasped, throwing a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!

“Why? She  _ is  _ cringe.”

Lydia didn’t look comforted. “No but, she… y _ ou know?” _

“I do? Oh! Are you talking about the sandworm thing?” Lydia nodded, hand still over her mouth. “Babes, we’re demons. She regenerated in, like, a month. Don’t sweat it. She’s perfectly fine, and, for the record, even if she wasn’t I still wouldn’t care.”

Her hand and shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, good. So you’re happy she’s back then?”

Beetlejuice laughed, loud and uproarious and without the slightest trace of humor or amusement. “Good one kid! No. Absolutely not.”

“But she’s your mom?”

“Not a  _ good _ one though.” Gross, that was too much real talk and it was giving him hives. He clapped his hands together. “Now, on to more important matters: Sandy the snake!”

Lydia nodded once, allowing the change of subject. “Right. We need stuff for inside the tank, like bedding, water and food bowls, hidey places. All that stuff snakes need. And food. We need to figure out food.”

With another snap of his fingers, bedding material was inside the tank, along with several sticks for climbing and various native foliage. There was a heat lamp attached to the top as well.

“Oh, wow. That was easy. I thought we’d have to make a trip to Petsmart, later.”

“Nah, but you know where we  _ do _ get to make a trip to?”

Lydia perked up, feeding off of his excited tone. “Where?”

“The woods!”

“The woods?”

“Hell yeah. These little guys eat other snakes so we need to go full on Steve Irwin and hunt us down ‘some butes,’” he said, finishing in a mocking Australian tone.

“You know who Steve Irwin is?”   


“Who doesn’t?”

“Fair. Can you put the tank on that dresser over there?” Lydia asked, pointed at the dresser in question, which she'd already cleared off and was located on the far wall of her room.

He got up and placed the tank where she indicated as he kept talking. “Sandy and her cousins feed on other snakes so we need to go to the creepiest woods you know of and rustle her up some grub.”

Lydia looked absolutely thrilled by this. “Why do the woods have to be creepy?” she asked.

“Makes it more fun,  _ duh _ .”

Her grime was contagious and they stared at each other like complete dumbasses for a beat. 

“I know  _ just _ the place,” she announced. Lydia gathered Sandy up from where she had escaped Lydia’s arms and wriggled to the end of the bed, placing her into the new tank where she immediately began exploring the new space, flicking her tongue in and out in a way Beetlejuice definitely didn’t find cute.

“Ooh, where?”

“Follow me,” she said, rushing downstairs with Beetlejuice close behind.

They darted past a confused looking Adam and Barbara, who were sitting on the couch, snuggled up together with Adam lying on Barbara’s lap like the most adorable twofer special on boring, sexy white people.

Barbara perked up when she saw them. “Where are you two off in such a hurry?”

“The woods out by the abandoned saw mill,” Lydia replied.

Barbara frowned. “Isn’t that a little dangerous? You never know who could be out in those woods?”

“I know, but I have Beetlejuice with me,” Lydia said, continuing to edge towards the door.

Beetlejuice winked at her. “Don’t worry, Babs. I’ll bring her home safe. After all, I  _ am _ an incredibly powerful demon.”

She only hummed in response, unimpressed. Just then, Delia stuck her head out from where she was still in the kitchen. “Be safe, you two! Be back before sunset.”

“Bye, Lydia,” Adam said.

“Will do! Bye!” Lydia called back, dragging Beetlejuice by the hand outside with her in a mad dash to get away before any more prying parent-figures harassed her with questions and concerns about her general welfare.

The forest was… fine. Lydia was grinning next to him like the cat who caught the canary, snapping pictures of various spiderwebs and cool bugs that Beetlejuice ate while her back was turned. But it wasn’t spooky in the least, there weren’t even any mysterious tracks to investigate, and it was completely devoid of any lingering ghosts that could liven up the adventure.

In fact, the closest ghosts, spirits, or soon-to-be-deads (that wasn’t the official term for that particular batch of folks but “really close to kicking the bucket and passing through the veil” doesn’t have the same ring to it”) that Beetlejuice could clearly sense were the Maitlands and they were several miles away at this point.

He sniffed the air again, hoping to pick up on something more interesting than the dick-shaped stick Lydia had found, which he did have to admit was pretty cool. There was something odd floating on the air and he flicked out his tongue to get a better sense of it. It was  _ almost _ like a spirit, but at the same time it wasn’t like that at all.

As a prince of hell, he had dominion over the transition over life and death, so he could sense when people were about to die or when someone was about to become stuck in the transition between life and afterlife. He usually stepped in to guide them at that point but sometimes someone slipped through the cracks and stuck around for a bit, leaving ghosts in their wake. 

Ghosts, who then become spirits if left in the Upperworld long enough, who then faded into nothingness if not ushered into the Netherworld. And all of them- ghosts, spirits, almost-deads, demons- they all had a distinct scent to them and what he picked up on now was none of them. It was closest to a spirit but it smelled like the otherworldly equivalent of a rotting corpse left in the sun for too long. The metaphor didn’t make sense, even in his own mind, but Beetlejuice couldn’t be bothered to care.

There was no use wondering over things that had no answers and probably weren’t important anyways.

Speaking of things that were important, his ear pricked up as he heard a slight movement in the underbrush a few yards off. Beetlejuice quickly dropped down into a crouch and with careful movements creeped his way closer to his prey while a confused Lydia looked on from behind him.

“What —” she started.

“ _ Shh _ ,” he hissed, letting a snakelike sibilance flow out.

Just a few feet closer and… perfect! He darted a hand forward, clenching it around the neck of his prey and lifting a triumphant fist in the air.

“Whoa!” Lydia exclaimed, rushing forward to poke at the wriggling snake in his hand. “How’d you even notice it from that far away?”

“Because,” he whispered conspiratorially, gesturing her closer. “This is really important. Are you listening?  _ Are _ you? Good. I’ve been lying to you. I’m actually the ghost of Steve Irwin.”

Lydia laughed, gently punching him in the arm. “Loser.”

“I know you are but what am I?” he mocked, summoning a bag and shoving the garter snake inside.

“A loser with lame comebacks.”

“Low blow!”

“Just like your IQ.”

Beetlejuice flung a hand over his forehead and fake-swooned against a nearby tree like a fainting Victorian woman. “Such rudeness! Such abuse. How will I ever survive?”

Lydia, several feet ahead of him at this point, was poking at the ground with a stick she had picked up, flinging over leaves and underbrush. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to live with the fact that you're dead and can no longer survive anything.”

“Ouch! Right in my cold, unbeaten heart!” he said, flinging the bag over his shoulder and catching up to Lydia.

She continued flicking leaves over and poking at the dirt with her disappointingly un-pallus-like stick. “Seriously though. We’re here to catch snakes for Sandy to eat?”

“Yeah.”

“So…?” Lydia asked. It was a leading question but he wasn’t sure where he was meant to be going with it.

He blinked at her blankly. “So?” What did she want here?

“Oh my god, Beej. So  _ teach _ me how to hunt for snakes!”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Yeah, that made sense. He grinned, mouth wide and eyes bright as Lydia mirrored his expression. This was going to be  _ fun _ .

And so they spent the next few hours hunting down and capturing all the snakes that they could find in a several mile radius. They’d managed to find a couple hognose, a few ratsnakes, and an approximate shit ton of garter snakes. Well, six of them, but that was enough to keep Sandy sated for months. They’d caught more than what was reasonable for feeding one little bandy-bandy, but that didn’t matter to either of them as they sat in a small clearing, each of their backs against a tree and facing each other.

Lydia was covered in mud and other forest gunk, but she didn’t appear to mind too much if the wide grin on her face was anything to go by, an expression he couldn't help but mirror as they sat there looking like two idiots high on dope.

They sat in companionable silence for long minutes. It was something Beetlejuice had never done before, just sharing a moment with someone. Most of his interactions with people involved bared teeth, sharp words, and fewer clothes. But this was nice, like nothing he’d ever done before, but that made it all the more special in his mind.

He had the thought that if he kept up his end of the Contract and followed all of the house rules then he could have more moments like this. That was unrealistic though- no one wanted to keep him around for as long as he wanted to stay. But the thought of being allowed to stick around stuck in like a fish hook, refusing to be pushed to the side.

The idea of it was intoxicating, more alluring than even the prospect of sleeping with the Maitlands or snorting a kilo of cocaine while scaring all of the neighbors so badly they end up in therapy. And those thoughts were  _ definitely _ alluring.

Eventually, Lydia pulled out her phone and began tapping at it while Beetlejuice closed his eyes and enjoyed the brief rest before jolting them back open as he picked up on the same not-spirit scent from before.

Lydia gasped and Beetlejuice jerked to an alert position. It didn’t take him long to notice what she’d seen. Several yards off, in the center of the clearing was a floating light, emitting a dull and sickly green glow that reminded Beetlejuice of the old exit signs in hospitals.

He’d never seen anything quite like it.

Lydia moved into a crouch and shuffled a few steps closer to the floating light. “Beej? What is that thing?” she asked, half whispering and eyes wide. She didn’t appear scared at all, which he vaguely thought should have surprised him. But, on the other hand, she wasn’t fazed at all when they’d first met and this thing (creature?) was objectively less frightening. 

He mumbled something that approximated ‘I dunno.’ Lydia continued creeping closer and Beetlejuice teleported so he appeared between her and the light, flicking a tongue out and frowning when he didn’t pick up anything new. It smelled like ozone and death. It wasn’t the greatest combination of scents, but he didn’t have any room to criticize what other creatures smelled like.

Beetlejuice half startled as Lydia appeared behind him, ducking her head around him to peer at the light. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“It’s not like I know  _ everything _ Lyds,” he snarked back. Seriously, he wasn’t a fucking encyclopedia on weird Upperworld shit. He was a hastily made pamphlet at best, complete with old photos from the 90’s and three different misspellings of the word ‘dinosaurs.’ 

She poked him in the side, eyes still unwavering from the creature. “Well, we  _ all _ knew  _ that _ .”

He tried and mostly failed to hold back his amusement. “Rude! I am so hurt and offended that I’m just going to leave you to whatever fate this monstrous beast has in store for you.”

“Hmm. ‘k. Bye,” she said, stepping around him and nearing the creature. She was within reaching distance when the light darted backwards, stopping a few yards away. It pulsed slightly, a taunt if he’d ever seen one. Like one of those fish with the glowing antennas that lures its prey in with a happy little ‘follow me! I promise I don’t bite’ before tearing the other little fishie’s head off for dinner.

He snapped his jaws at the orb.  _ He _ was the predator here and whatever this thing was, it wasn’t going to be having him or Lydia for dinner today. Not if he had anything to say about it and there was never a moment in his long life that he  _ hadn’t _ had  _ something _ to say.

Lydia, though, seemed to have no such inclinations as she raised her camera to snap a picture of it and proceeded to trot after it when she was done. Again, it darted away as soon as she was touching distance away from it.

“C’mon!” she exclaimed as she jogged forward after the light, leaving Beetlejuice behind with a half-open jaw and a face of disbelief. Was she seriously running after that thing? “And stop being so snappy,” she called back, now a good distance away.

He groaned, quickly sending their bag of snakes to his pocket dimension. With a blink he appeared next to her, morphing into a flying fox bat and keeping pace with her without the added indignity of running himself as she darted around trees and jumped over logs and fallen branches in her way. Besides, bats were cool and they got to eat all the bugs they wanted without being judged. Beetlejuice flew ahead of her as the light stayed a steady distance in front of them while Lydia ducked under limbs and swatted away spider webs.

They managed to keep pace with it for several minutes before Lydia stopped short. “It looks like a will-o’-the-wisp,” she said breathily, leaning forward with gasping breaths. 

Beetlejuice landed on her head and grasped her hair with his little bat fingers, staring at the light that had stopped with them. “And what’s a willy whisper?” he asked when it seemed she had caught her breath again and started following the light at a more reasonable pace for someone who didn’t make a habit of sprinting into danger like horror movie victims

“A will-o’-the-wisp. There’s a lot of different myths about them, like  _ a lot _ . And depending on where you’re from they’re either like the lost souls of children, or fairies that are sent to guide you off your path, but they’re almost always presented as the lost souls of the dead. Which is, like,  _ super  _ cool,” she explained, excitement lacing her every word.

Beetlejuice hummed. “It smells almost like a spirit. But, like, one fucked up halfways to Mars.”

“A spirit?” she asked, kicking aside a few rocks. “Like Barbara and Adam?”

“Nah. They’re ghosts, kid. Spirits are… well, I mean, they  _ were _ ghosts, but not anymore.”

She hummed questioningly and tilted her head backwards in an attempt to look at him. The motion nearly threw him off and he swatted at her with a clumsy wing and chittered a noise that was far more bat-like than demon-like. Lydia laughed at him and gave an apology he didn’t believe for a second was sincere.

“Ghosts become spirits if they stay in the Upperworld too long. They basically turn into, uh, I guess you could call them memories? Memories of who they used to be. Like vague impressions of their souls. Like the warm afterglow you get after some seriously banger sex.”

“Gross.”

“Shh. Anyway, breathers can’t usually pick up on spirits, but they  _ normally  _ look sort of like faded shadows. Sometimes them and ghosts can turn into ghouls if the soul gets particularly fucked up.” But the next step after spirits was always capital ‘d’ Death when the spirits passed on into nothingness, but she didn’t need to know that part. Besides, death comes for everyone in the end, even ghosts.

“ _ Wow _ . There’s a lot there to unpack.” Lydia said with a tone he couldn’t identify.

“Let’s just leave it all in the suitcase.”

She hummed in agreement, but moments later her face screwed up in concern as she asked, “Are you saying Barbara and Adam are eventually going to turn into shadows if they don’t pass on?”

That wasn’t leaving it in the suitcase but, “Yeah.”

She made a noise that Beetlejuice would have called fear if it came from anyone else. “And you didn’t  _ tell  _ them that? Are we going to come home one day and they won’t  _ be  _ there because they faded away?” she all but screeched.

Ah, the pieces clicked as Beetlejuice remembered his conversation with Charles about Lydia’s lingering anxiety about people leaving her behind. Well shit. That wasn’t what he was going for here.

“No.  _ No, _ ” he hurried to say, leaning forward and tilting his head down so they were nose to nose. “It’ll take a few centuries at least. And they can go to the Netherworld whenevers. It’s not like there’s no warning before it happens. Don’t worry, kiddo. They’ll be able to stay  _ long _ past even when your grandkids kiss the mortal plane goodbye.”

She took in a purposeful breath, letting it out slowly before repeating the process. “Oh,” she said and that was that. Beetlejuice backed up so he was better perched and could keep an eye on the not-spirit as they continued walking. They were keeping an even distance from the willy wisp, but that didn’t mean he trusted it not to turn on them

“Why are you still on my head?” Lydia asked several minutes later, apropos of nothing.

He scoffed. “Walking is overrated.”

“ _ You’re  _ overrated. But seriously, your legs aren’t broke and you’re a bat right now, for some reason? So you can just fly.”

“Nah, flying is exercise and I refuse to do it.”

She hummed in disagreement. “If I could fly, I’d never want to stop.”

“Nah, I don’t believe you. You’d probably consider it an activity of the bourgeoisie and refuse on principle.”

“Oh? Are we assuming that somehow in this hypothetical universe that flying has become something only rich people do? Hell no, everyone would still be able to fly so the working class still could. And would.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Because only the rich would have time to fly around. It’d be like jogging. Something only the wealthy have time for and can do in their ultra-safe neighborhoods. The poor people would have to take public transportation because they’re too tired to fly home after working their ten hour shifts at minimum wage.”

Lydia was silent for a moment before saying vehemently, “ _ Fuck _ capitalism!”

He grinned. “Yeah, babes. Fuck capitalism!”

“Seriously though, get off of my head,” she said, trying to shake him off.

He dug his claws in further and burrowed deeper into her hair. “Aww,” he groaned. “But you’re so warm and cozy! And that chemically citrus shampoo you’re wearing is just scrumptious.”

“A- never call my hair scrumptious again. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, I hated it as soon as it came out of my mouth.”

“And B- Rule 2. You gotta stop touching me when I tell you to.”

His mood did a complete 180. He hadn’t realized that rule extended even to situations like this. How was he meant to know when she was joking about him not touching her and when she actually meant it? Did this mean he was never allowed to touch her hair again? Not that it was something he had a special desire to do, but it could feasibly come up again.

Beetlejuice appeared beside her, once again in his normal demonic form, bipedal with the normal number and types of limbs and everything.

“I thought you were joking about the getting off your head thing. I didn’t realize you  _ genuinely _ didn’t like it,” he said slowly, haltingly, every word coming out like a staccato.

She turned to him with another one of her odd expressions that he couldn't identify. Why did humans have to have so many emotions? “I didn’t mind it, but I was just ready for you to get off.”

“Right,” he agreed without the vaguest idea what she meant by that.

“Yeah, so I asked and you did. Don’t get all weird about it.”

“So is this like one of your boundary things? No being a bat and roosting on you?”

She teased, “What, you planning on being a bat a lot?”

“No,” he said soberly, in contrast to her joking tone. “Just don’t want to break the rules on accident.”

Her slight smile dropped and they had a heavy moment of eye contact that Beetlejuice quickly turned away from. Lydia focused her attention back on the damn spirit that was still guiding them on to some unknown location.

“We can talk more about it later, Beej, but you didn’t do anything wrong. I said stop and you listened. That’s consent, which is what that rule was really about anyways.”

He tilted his head in confusion. Humans did love that word, but the concept was beyond him. In the Netherworld, if you didn’t like what someone was doing, you stopped them yourself. And if you weren’t strong enough to stop them… well then you must not have hated it that much. It was a painful lesson that his mother beat into him early and frequently.

Demons weren’t creatures of kindness and they didn’t do things like respect boundaries, but he was trying his best to learn so he could live among these humans that, while they probably still didn’t like him (sans one very special emo teen), they at least tolerated him and that was more than he could say for everyone else in his life. Except Miss Argentina, of course, who still got sick of him at times. He got it — she’s a busy woman and he can be very annoying. It was a point of pride actually, how annoying he could be when he put his mind to it. And even sometimes when he didn’t.

“I don’t get it,” he said, realizing that he’d been silent for far too long.

She looked at him in concern, an emotion of hers he could finally identify, but he didn’t care for that one one bit. “We can talk about it more later. I’ll even make you a PowerPoint!”

He didn’t know what a PowerPoint was and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out. It sounded like the name of a sex toy, but he was equally certain that wasn’t right.

Heaving a world-weary sigh, he said, “Looking forward to it, kiddo.”

Their ceaseless plodding appeared to have come to an end as the spirit had, for whatever reason, decided to stop backing away from them. Lydia rushed toward it in a way Beetlejuice could only describe as a giddy hop, not that he would ever say that aloud. He enjoyed his afterlife too much to risk it on that. She fell just short of the creature and raised a hand towards it, stopping just short of contact before lowering it and stepping back.

He tilted his head, a gesture of confusion he had picked up from breathers long ago.

Lydia shrugged. “Boundaries. It made it pretty clear it didn’t want to be touched.”

Damn. These boundary things extended even to spirit-ish willy whispering creatures? Next, he’d have to start respecting “keep out” and “closed” signs.

They both glanced around at the area in which they'd found themselves. It didn’t appear any different to the rest of the woods with the sole exception that Beetlejuice could now see the saw mill peeking over the trees in the distance that Lydia had mentioned before they left that morning.

He watched Lydia kick at the ground surrounding the spirit, finding nothing but dirt hiding underneath the sticks and leaves. “Why do you think the will-o’-the-wisp led us here?” He shrugged in response, which earned him a glare as Lydia continued poking around at the dirt.

Who ever knew what spirits wanted? Ghosts stuck around for a reason, which they could usually articulate well enough if prodded. But spirits? There just normally wasn’t enough left of them to communicate. This wasn’t a normal spirit, but the same principles applied: Breather died. Breather became a Newly Dead ghost. Ghost didn’t pass on. Ghost went insane. Ghost became spirit.

Lydia kicked more fiercely at the dirt. “Don’t you care about this  _ at all _ ?” Lydia exclaimed, exasperated, after failing to find anything of note that would explain the side quest that they’d found themselves on. “I mean, this is  _ so cool _ . We just got let here by spirit, which means there’s  _ something _ here it wants us to find! We’re like ghost detectives.”

“I mean, I  _ guess _ . But spirits aren’t like ghosts at all. They’re pretty much all instinct, no thought. Like, this one is a weird spirit, but it’s still a  _ spirit.  _ If anything we’re spirit detectives: hunters of both undead spirits and alcoholic spirits,” he snarked, summoning and downing a shot of tequila.

Huffing in response as Beetlejuice gnawed on his lime slice, Lydia turned back to the light. “What did you bring us here to find?” She gasped with eyes alight in excitement. “Did you bring us here to solve your  _ murder _ ?” There was no response from the spirit, which continued hovering and emitting its sickly glow. “Oh, sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

She was so fucking  _ sweet _ — who cared it if was insensitive? It’s not like it was aware enough to know either way . How was everyone in the Maitland-Deetz house so nice? It was creepy. Even creepier than the sickly glow the thing was still emitting like it was its sole purpose in death.

But damn, she just looked so earnest and so very very concerned for this dumb glowing ball they found a couple hours ago. Maybe more, maybe less. Time was hard and he didn’t understand how it worked in the Upperworld.

Fine.  _ Fine!  _ He’d look around for whatever the spirit was aiming after, which was probably  _ nothing _ for the record. And he was doing it for  _ him _ , not for the doe-eyed breather staring at him with another batch of emotions he couldn’t identify.

He stepped forward and leaned down so he was eye-level with the spirit and inhaled deeply. There was the same ozone smell from before, hovering close to the surface and threatening to make his eyes water with how overwhelming to the senses it was. He closed his eyes and breathed in again. Under the ozone, very faintly, was the smell of a corpse long dead, a body left in the sun for years and years, left for so long that it stopped smelling of anything at all, except the fair echo of bones and life once lived.

It was like smelling a memory, faint and so fragile that it would disappear at the most gentle of touches, but it was enough.

Beetlejuice banished his shot glass and crouched down onto all fours on the soft forest floor He scented the air, tongue flicking out to catch the lingering traces that his nose couldn’t.

He noticed in his periphery that Lydia was staring at him, but he ignored her as he picked up on the scent in the air. Bingo.

Beetlejuice perked his head up and cracked his neck with a satisfying  _ pop _ . He shapeshifted into a bloodhound at smirked at Lydia best he could before darting off and barking.

“Wait! Where are you going?” she called at him, running to catch up with the light sluggishly following behind.

“We’re spirit detectives, aren’t we?”

“I guess?”

“You said it —  no take-backsies now!”

She skidded to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath to Beetlejuice’s untrained eyes, but he figured she’d let him know if she needed to stop for a breather. (Ha! Get it? Breather?) 

“Okay,” she agreed. “So we’re Lydia and BJ:  _ Ghost _ Detectives. Why are you a dog though?”

He sniffed exaggeratedly at the air again and stuck a pose. “Because  _ I _ , dear Miss Deetz, have caught the scent of our dead friend over there.”

“What, really?”

“Really, really, really,” he echoed.

She bounced on the balls of her feet a few times with a wide smile. “Well come on then. Lead the way.”

He woofed three times and bounded off after the scent trail, Lydia hot on his heels and the spirit lagging behind them. They had to stop a couple times for him to re-find a trace, but soon they found themselves at the entryway to the abandoned saw mill.

The building stood out among the trees and was barricaded behind a half-standing chain-link fence. The paneling and long become rust and was missing in several spots. Machinery that had been overtaken by the greenery of the forest sagged next to the building and could have easily been missed if you weren’t looking for it. The area still smelled of wood dust, but it was overlaid with the metallic tang of rust and mildew. 

In short, it was so fucking cool.

He and Lydia locked eyes. Beetlejuice shifted back into human form and with a click of his fingers they were inside the gate and standing next to the building’s entrance. The door refused to move when Lydia tried to open it, having long ago given itself over to the rust gluing it shut, but with a wave of his hands the door was gone and Lydia stepped inside.

“ _ Whoa _ ,” she gaped.

Beetlejuice followed her in. The interior had been almost entirely cleared out, leaving little beyond the thick layer of dust that had settled on everything. There were a few machines with intricate looking gears and pulleys on the far side and saws at regular intervals along the floor, sticking out of the wood like ribs pulled from a body.

“This is so cool,” Lydia exclaimed. She creeped forward, untrusting of the old flooring, and eased toward the nearest saw. “I wonder what all this stuff was for.”

Beetlejuice shrugged. He was almost certainly alive when this stuff was in use, but that didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. There was too much constantly occurring and overlapping in the world to be aware of all of it. It looked like most buildings did after they were abandoned. 

The decay was slow-going, but it was still there and he could see where the wood had rotted away and collapsed, giving up in its endless fight against weather, time, and termites. The rust on the siding and on the machines made his nose itch, but it was a familiar sensation. He’d been privy to more than his share dead buildings. Breathers, he noted, had a tendency to create and build and bring new things to life, only to let it pass along with them when they left the mortal realm. Their lives were so brief and so were the memories of what they left behind. 

Never had there existed a building that stood the test of time. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, metal to rust and all that. All things must die.

Speaking of death, he sniffed the air again. They were close. He walked towards the far side of the building, stepping over and past various metal bits and leftover debris. He heard Lydia following close behind him, but a silence had descended over the pair. The aura of the mill wasn’t one to encourage conversation. Even the various woodland noises had the sense to silence themselves inside here.

His ear twitched as he heard the faint buzzing of the spirit behind him. It must have finally caught up, the poor dead bastard.

He wondered briefly what the spirit was like when it was alive, but quickly shook his head to clear the thoughts. Dwelling over shit like that was pointless and he made a point to avoid introspection whenever possible.

Lydia bumped into him as Beetlejuice abruptly stopped. In front of them was a small hole in the flooring, similar to many of the others they’d carefully stepped over, next to a saw that mirrored the dozen others they’d already passed.

“Beej?”

The demon in question kneeled down and reached a hand into the hole. His shoulder pressed against the flooring and he scowled, growling softly.

“It’s down there,” he said and extended his arm so it could paw at the ground below.

“What is?”

He grunted. “Not sure yet. But whatever it is, your buddy over there seems pretty stoked about it.

Lydia turned and gasped softly when she saw the spirit behind them. It lingered out of touching range, as was expected at this point, but the sickly glow had grown noticeably brighter.

“I didn’t even notice it follow us in here.”

Beetlejuice grunted in response. It’d be easier if he teleported below the flooring and could see what he was poking at but he’d already committed to this and he wasn’t about to change his methods now. That would just be embarrassing.

He felt his knuckles scrape across something hard in the dirt. He scraped a finger across the exposed surface.  _ Gotcha _ , he thought with a triumphant grin. The material was hard, but it was too soft and smooth to be rock. His claws dug at the dirt around it and at last he was able to pull the item up, shortening his arm back to its normal length and pulling it out from the hole with a satisfied  _ ah ha! _

The spirit glowed brighter and Lydia kneeled down next to him and peered at the item Beetlejuice had fisted in his hand.

He released the fist so they could clearly see the object. It was dull white underneath the dirt and moss that was clinging to it. The object was oblong with a deep curve it and extended out several inches on either side of Beetlejuice’s hand.

“Is that a….”

“Rib? Yeah. And old one too by the looks of it.” He brought the rib closer to his face and licked it as Lydia gagged at him and mimed throwing up.

He smacked his lips a few times in Lydia’s ear as he swatted at him and called him disgusting. It didn’t taste like much beyond old dirt, but his tongue stuck to it, confirming that it was indeed bone. And he knew from experience that no one needed to know about that it was human.

“Human,” he said aloud. 

Beetlejuice held it up to the spirit and waggled it. “Is this what you wanted?” There was no response. Typical. He didn’t know why he thought there would be. Lydia must already be rubbing off on him.

“Do you really think it belongs to him?”

He shrugged, hand still outstretched. “Probably. It  _ smells _ like it belongs to it.”

“You can smell that?”

He hummed yes. Souls and their bodies shared a unique connection that he, with dominion over the transition from life to death, was privy to. The smells weren’t exactly the same but they had the same staticky feeling and aura to them.

“So, like, can you smell my bones right now?”

Beetlejuice reeled back and looked her up and down. “What the fuck? No? You’re not dead. All of your bits are together and it all just mixes together, like a jambalaya. I can’t pick out of individual ingredients. Weirdo.”

“Takes one to know one. Besides, I’m at least a gazpacho.” She stuck her tongue out at him, a gesture he mimicked.

Lydia gestured for him to hand over the rib and then spent a few moments examining it once he did so, eyes drawn in focus.

“How do you think it got her?” she asked, voice sober.

“I dunno,” he drawled. “Maybe one of these big saws got ‘em or maybe one of his coworkers whacked him. Maybe he just up and had a heart attack and his body decomposed here.” He shrugged. “No real way to know for sure.”

Lydia frowned. “Oh,” she said with disappointment. “What do we do then?”

“What do you mean?”

She flung her arms out in a wide, all-encompassing gesture. “Like, with all of this. Do we tell the cops? What do we do about the  spirit? Do we turn the rib over to someone?”

Beetlejuice snorted. “Nah. Cops wouldn’t care at this point. The fool old fool’s been dead centuries at this point.”

“I guess,” she mumbled. Her face was unhappy all of a sudden and Beetlejuice couldn’t quite pinpoint why. “Can we still help him though?”

“Help who? The spirit?”

She nodded. Beetlejuice stared at Lydia with unblinking eyes and slowly turned to gaze at the spirit. The kid was more perturbed by this than he expected. She didn’t go around wanting to help Barbara and Adam with their whole state of existence. Why was this spirit any different? It didn’t make any sense. Dead was dead and this spirit was already deader than most.

He let out a long, unneeded breath and stood, reaching out a hand helping Lydia stand as well. He gestured for the rib, which she returned to him with a suspicious look. Good girl. Trusting demons was never a good practice to fall into, even if he was said demon in question.

Beetlejuice palmed the rib and rubbed some of the dirt off with his thumb. He gripped the rib with both hands and closed his eyes. He centered his breath and focused inward, reaching for the hellfire that burned in the core of every demon. He felt the spark in the pit of his core and summoned it forth, feeling the spark grow, becoming larger and receding slightly with every breath, like the flicker of the candle.

The fire grew until he could feel it warming his core and stretching its burning tendrils rushing forward, up past his heart, filling the blood vessels with its rage and fury, flowing up into his throat, causing a breath of smoke to escape Beetlejuice’s mouth. The fire spread downward, into his legs, and outward, into his arms.

He opened his eyes and could feel the cold fury of hell’s flames burn in them. All at once, his hands alit, flames stretching high into the air, teasing at the cold metal and worm-eaten wood of the roofing, and engulfing the bone so thoroughly that it turned to ash in an instant. The ash was eaten away by the flame, which burned hotter than any earthly fire.

Beetlejuice breathed out, forcing all the air from his lungs and releasing the tension he’d gathered and stoked. The hellfire evaporated into smoke.

He looked at Lydia out of the corner of his eyes, who was staring at him with mouth agape. He smirked at her. “Cool, right?”

She sputtered for words, making gestures that amounted to fuck-all in terms of meaningfulness, before blowing a raspberry. “Yeah, I guess, if you’re into arson or whatever.”

He snorted, knowing full damn well that _ she _ knew full damn well that she was full of shit. That was cool as fuck and there would be no convincing him otherwise.

They both turned in almost unison to look at the spirit, whose light had flared up as the bone had burned, becoming so bright it hurt to stare directly at it. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, becoming more dull with each beat until they both had to squint to see any light at all. There was a final pulse and then nothing.

It was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Lydia stepped forward and waved a hand where the spirit had been before turning back to face Beetlejuice, hand still raised and teeth worrying over her lip. “So,” she hesitated, lowering her arm and stepping back once more, “did he… pass on?”

“For sure,” Beetlejuice replied, feeling no guilt over the lie. The spirit was too far gone to properly pass on. Even if he’d drawn a door to the Netherworld and managed to shove it through, it would have faded into nothingness before he even had the chance to fill out the paperwork. Lydia didn’t need to know that though. Breathers weren’t meant to deal with this much death and, while he didn’t fully understand why that was, he still felt a profound need to protect her from more pain than what was necessary.

And this? This was an unnecessary pain that he could spare her from. Let her think that Mx. Spirit had passed peacefully on to the Netherworld where it was living out the rest of its afterlife. 

And, really, it wasn’t even that much of a lie. No one knew where the dead ended up when they passed on to their final death. It could very well be that the spirit was living it up in paradise. Beetlejuice didn’t believe it for a second, but it was still a possibility.

Lydia still looked somber in a way that only breathers at funerals do and he didn’t care for it. Should he… not have done that? Breather’s emotions were so fickle. He really thought this would make her happy.

He deliberated on what to ask her, what would piss her off and what would help. In the end he settled on, “Are you okay?”

She jerked when he spoke, as if she’d forgotten he was there. He frowned at the thought; he didn’t appreciate being invisible to one of the handful of people who could see him. He dismissed the thought, knowing it wasn’t fair to her.

“Yeah,” Lydia replied, voice breaking over the single syllable. She cleared her throat. Beetlejuice frowned, unconvinced.

They locked eyes and warred for a moment, but Beetlejuice stood his ground. She wasn’t weaseling out of this conversation. If this was another boundary thing then he needed to know about it sooner rather than later. 

She sighed. “It’s just a lot.”

“A lot?” What the hell did that mean?

“Just, all of this. It’s a lot. It’s nothing you did, I promise. But I just need some processing time and I’ll be alright,” she said with a weak smile.

He wasn’t convinced, but in that moment decided to make the active choice to trust her. The rules said no malicious lying and he had to trust that she was telling him the truth this time. Trust didn’t come naturally to him and the decision felt akin to being burned with holy water, but, nevertheless, he persisted.

“Promise?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

She nodded firmly, sure of what she was saying. “I promise, Beej. If you ever do anything that upsets me, I’ll let you know. Before gaudy artwork gets brought into the picture,” she joked.

He smiled to acknowledge the joke but the reference to his brief life and untimely death was still bitter on his tongue. “Promise?” he asked again, voice still betraying more of his inner thoughts than he’d prefer.

She punched at his shoulder, face alight with fondness that he failed to recognize. “Promise,” she echoed, voice steady as a ship set sail in calm seas. He still worried over the inevitable storm, but that was tomorrow and today was today.

“Spirit detective?” he asked, raising a fist?

She bumped his fist with her own. “Spirit detectives, even though we didn’t actually solve any mysteries.”

“Mysteries are lame anyways. Better to be the one causing the problems in the first place.”

“True. Now c’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m ready to go home and I’m sure Sandy’s hungry by now.”

She probably wasn’t but Beetlejuice nodded anyways and followed her out of the mill as they made their way home.

It was dark by the time they returned to the house. Dinner had long since passed and Lydia warmed something up in the microwave for a late-night meal before heading upstairs to her room, letting Beetlejuice know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t to enter until morning. She said she just needed to process the day, but he wasn’t convinced, but allowed her to escape without comment.

The house was quiet and Beetlejuice found himself wandering aimlessly around the downstairs, unsettled by the lack of apparent life in the normally bustling house.

He wandered into the kitchen, snagging a few cans from the recycling bin and munching on them as he made his way upstairs. He looked down the hall that contains everyone’s rooms. All the doors were closed, though light peeked out from under each doorframe. He had the strong desire to bother someone before he was left alone for the rest of the night. Lydia was out — she’d already banished him from her room. Charles and Delia… well they weren’t his first choice by any means. Delia could be cool, he thought, but he didn’t want to risk another argument with Charles this soon. That left the Maitlands.

He felt a small smile creep onto his face. Yeah, the Maitlands were perfect. He stood in front of their door (apparently they  _ didn’t _ sleep in the attic), contemplating the funniest way to barge in and almost had decided to transform into a giant black widow with a human face to scare the shit out of them, but in the end he decided to simply phase through the door. Less risk of being yelled at that way.

He walked into the wonderful sight of both Maitlands tucked into bed already. Adam had a book propped up on his chest that Beetlejuice couldn’t tell the title of from where he was standing and Barbara was leaning on his shoulder, peering at the book as well, but it didn’t look like she was doing any actual reading herself.

“Hey guys! This is a crazy party y’all got going on,” he said, startling them both as they jumped about a mile high and Adam yelped, dropping the book onto the floor.

“Jesus, Beetlejuice!” Adam exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He snorted. “Not Jesus by a long shot and I hate to be the one to tell you this A-dog, but you’re already dead. A little heart attack wouldn’t do much at this point.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Adam muttered, scooping the book up from the floor and placing a bookmark into it, settling it on his lap.

“Why didn’t you knock?” Barbara demanded, eyes narrowed and face stony.

He shrugged. Knocking shmocking.

“ _ No _ ,” Barbara said in a steely voice. “You have to knock before coming into our room.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Why?”

“Privacy,” Barbara said. “People like having privacy when in their rooms and it's polite to knock before entering someone’s private space.” Apparently his confusion was clear because she continued, “For example, how would you like it if we entered your room without asking.”

He shrugged. again. He didn’t think he’d care much. In fact, he’d probably just be happy for the company.

“Well,” Adam piped up, “what if we walked in while you were doing something personal? Or something you didn’t want others seeing? Or interrupting?”

Beetlejuice frowned. He couldn’t think of anything that he could possibly do that he wouldn’t want others walking in on, but he supposed he saw the point. Most people, including other demons, were pretty territorial about their space. He didn’t have any particular expectations of his space or room being private or protected, so he didn’t have that same drive to protect it that others seemed to. The room he was in was nice and all, but it wasn’t  _ his. _ It belonged to the Deetz’s so it only made sense that they’d be able to enter whenever they wanted. Even the Maitlands had more claim to the room than him, seeing as it was their house first.

Maybe it was just one of those  _ human _ things, that drive to snap and snarl at invaders. It made more and more sense the more he mused on it. Humans were pretty defenseless- no fangs, no claws, no venom. They couldn’t even shapeshift. Historically, they only had their words and noises to keep wild animals out of their villages so that instinct must have passed on to their ancestors. They didn’t have villages anymore so that instinct must have passed on into protecting their houses and rooms. It was almost adorable. Even kittens could protect their dens better than humans.

“I don’t really get it myself A-dog, B-town, but I can knock before coming in if that’ll do it for you.”

“Thank you,” Adam said with a faint smile.

“Knock  _ and _ wait for permission before coming in,” Barbara stated.

He growled soft enough that he didn’t think they heard him. These people loved restricting him, didn’t they? And that stupid Contract meant he had to listen. He let out a low, hissing breath, feeling anger slight enough to be classified as simple annoyance rising up before he pushed it down again. The Contract also meant he was allowed to enter their rooms in the first place he reminded himself. “You drive a hard bargain, Babs, but okay.”

“Okay?” she echoed, surprised at the easy acquiescence.

He nodded. “Sure, no skin off my back.”

They stared at him expectantly for a moment and Beetlejuice wracked his brain to come up with what they wanted out of him. Coming up with nothing, he flopped face-down on the end of their bed, causing a light layer of the grime coating his clothing to wipe off onto the duvet. Whoops.

“What’re you reading?” he asked after a moment, voice muffled by the covers.

Adam perked up at the question, shoving his glasses back up where they’d fallen down his nose. “An ornithology book on local birds. It’s really fascinating! I didn’t realize there were so many local birds in the area that we can see from the house. We’re going to start keeping a log of the different types that we see.”

“Sounds… fun?” It sounded super lame, actually, but they were both sorta lame so he figured they wouldn’t be doing it if they didn’t think it would be fun for them.

“It is,” Adam chirped, almost bird-like himself, with a wide grin.

Barbara continued starting at Beetlejuice, face carefully expressionless. “So did you need something or were you just stopping by to say hi? Because it’s about time Adam and I went to sleep.”

Adam nudged her shoulder and whispered to her, “I thought we were going to read another two chapters,” as she hushed him.

Beetlejuice felt his ears flick backwards at the casual and blatant dismissal before jerking them back forwards. They were glamored so the Maitlands couldn’t see them move, but the habit of forcing them to be emotionless was long since beaten into and ingrained in him.

“Not really. Lydia just wanted some solo time so I decided to see what you two lovebirds were up to.”

Adam nodded as if he was making perfect sense. “Ah, I see.”

“So you were just bored?” Barbara asked.

“I guess. Lyds said she needed ‘time to process the day,’ whatever that means.”

“Process the day?” Adam echoed.

“What happened today that she needs time to process?” Barbara asked, voice threaded with suspicion.

Which was fair, but still rude. He’d hardly been here a full 24 hours, barely enough time to get into any real trouble. Still, he heaved a heavy sigh and gave them the cliffnotes version of the events of the day, starting with the snake hunt (which reminded him that he needed to be sure to give those to Lydia in the morning when he was un-banished), finding and running down the spirit, and discovering its last remains and helping it to pass on.

“Not that it really passed on to the Netherworld, mind you,” he continued. “But she didn’t need to know that it passed on to its final death, but yeah. That’s what happened,” Beetlejuice finished lamely. 

They both stared at him with wide eyes and looked at each other, doing their weird couple-y thing again where they seem to have an entire conversation without words. It reminded him of telepathy and he had the sudden desire to be in on their couple telepathy because whatever they seemed to have decided on, he was completely in the dark.

Barbara took the lead, as usual. “So the spirit died then?” He nodded. “And you didn’t tell Lydia?” He nodded again. Didn’t he just tell them that? He poked anxiously at one of the loose strings on their duvet, tugging it loose with pointed claw and praying his hair wasn’t betraying his unease.

“That was good of you,” she said. Beetlejuice jerked his head up. What? Did he hear that right?

“She didn’t need to know that and it was very, and uncharacteristically, responsible of you to think about that.”

He felt a flush go up his face and he shoved it into the duvet, flustered and feeling the tips of his hair flush what he assumed was a light pink. He heard a light chuckle from the head of the bed as someone’s foot poked at him from under the covers.

“Yeah, yeah, the big scary demon doesn’t want to be called good,” Adam teased.

“I’m super evil. Fuck off,” he said monotone.

He swatted at the foot still poking at him and whoever it was moved it back. “Still,” Beetlejuice groaned, “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. The whole death thing. Why it was important to hide that from her. Why it  _ matters _ .”

Several long beats of silence passed as Beetlejuice fought the urge to pick his head up and attempt to interpret what he assumed was another couple telepathy moment.

“I think it’s because death is a very big and scary subject,” Barbara said, “and one that makes living people uncomfortable.”

“It’s not though? Death is the most basic part of living there is. It’s literally the only sure thing about life and it happens to literally every fucking person ever, so what’s the point of being scared of it?”

He felt his hair return back to normal as he regained his composure and gathered the strength to uncover his face and look the Maitlands in the eyes again. They both were already staring at him with uncharacteristically gentle expressions.

“Do you think that might be because you’re dealing with death every day of your, uh, life?” Adam asked. Beetlejuice snorted at his obvious discomfort at the imagined social faux pas. Everyone was so weirdly concerned with saying the wrong thing, especially around him, and, more generally, especially about death. He didn’t understand it.

He could grant that to the pair though. He definitely dealt with death on a more daily basis than the average breather.

Adam continued, “And Lydia’s dealt with death a lot more than most people do in their entire lives, and she’s still so young. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with and she just, well, she just needs time to process what she saw.”

“Right,” Barbara agreed. “It’s nothing against you, but, like Adam said, she just needs some time and space to think it out herself. It's how living people deal with their own mortality and being reminded of it. It’s not something we,  _ they _ like thinking about, so it tends to throw people for a loop when it gets brought up. Especially in such a dramatic way.”

Beetlejuice still didn’t quite get it, but he also wasn’t a breather, so maybe it was just something he was incapable of understanding the way humans did. He’d never experience mortality and living like a human so it made some amount of sense.

“I guess so,” he said at last, once he realized that he’d been silent for longer than was normal in a conversation. His tendency to get lost in his thoughts like this was going to get him in trouble one day.

Adam smiled at him and even Barbara’s expression was lighter than before. “You really care about her don’t you?”

He glowered at him.  _ Of course _ he cared about her. Wasn’t that obvious? He wouldn’t be here, following dumb rules, trying not to overstep, and worrying about saying the wrong thing if he didn’t like Lydia. They were BFFFFs forever.

Adam seemed to notice his clear offense because he immediately backtracked, “I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, you obviously care about her. It’s just, well, after you know… And the? I mean…” he sputtered.

Barbara placed a hand on his leg, calming him. “It’s just nice to see,” Barbara said with a gentle smile.

Oh. “Oh,” he said, metaphorical hackles lowering. “Right. right.” Well, this was now sufficiently uncomfortable and mushy. “Right!” he said again, finishing the pair of three. “I leave you two to do whatever kinky shit you get up to when you think nobody’s paying attention.”

Ah, and  _ there _ was Adam’s wonderful rush. Beetlejuice cackled as Adam sputtered and Barbara scolded him with a firm  _ Beetlejuice _ . With a wave of his hand he was hovering over the bed in his own room.

He allowed himself to fall onto the bed with a bounce. He leaned backwards and stared up at the ceiling, mind blank as he tried to process what exactly had happened today. There was so much new and, at this point in his existence, he didn’t think there was much new to experience. But, per usual, it seemed he was wrong about that.

Huh, that must be why Lydia needed time to think by herself. It was new to her too. And new was scary in a way that jump scares and bait and switches never could be. With that thought his eyes closed almost against his will and he felt the calm darkness of sleep overtake him for the second night in a row. His sleeping habits were practically human at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and support! It means so much and is a huge motivation for me to keep writing :)


	5. Bothering Everyone in the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I, like Beetlejuice, also go around harassing everyone in my house for attention. I live alone with my dog, but still.
> 
> TW: brief homophobic language

Morning came with the clattering of dishes echoing throughout the house. Beetlejuice’s eyes jolted open and he froze, muscles locking up and eyes staring straight ahead at the ceiling. Where the fuck was he?

He inhaled slowly and released the breath, out one two three four. He was laying on something soft and the air was lacking any acridicity that permeated the Underworld. He tensed each muscle in turn, tightening and releasing them allowing his mental tension to release along with it. He sniffed at the air again and picked up on the out of place smell of bacon. Sitting up, he took stock of where he was.

The room was strange at first, everything clean and slightly outdated, but all at once the pieces clicked and he felt like a bigger fool than he had in months. He was at the Maitland-Deetz house. How could he have possibly forgotten that? It was only the biggest deal in his life since maybe ever.

Groaning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and shook himself awake. It wasn’t a common thing for him to wake up unaware of where he was, but when he did it wasusually accompanied with a massive hangover that he seemed to be lacking at the moment.

Well, he could fix that no problem. With a wave of his hand he was holding a White Russian and began making his way downstairs. The clanging of metal from the kitchen was grating and made his ears twitch, but the prospect of freshly cooked food that he didn’t have to make or steal was alluring.

The sight he walked into was one that wouldn’t have been out of place in a slice of life show from the fifties, but it made him stop short with eyes wide. Delia, having thrown all the dishes in the sink, was handing out plates of eggs and bacon to Charles and Lydia, who were sitting at the table. Charles, dressed in a sharp suit, was reading a newspaper and drinking coffee out of a mug that proclaimed him to be the “World’s Okayest Dad.” Adam and Barbara were also seated and were making conversation with Lydia, but were without plates themselves since they hadn't quite figured out how to ingest food in their ghostly bodies yet.

The whole display only served to make him uncomfortably aware of how much he didn’t fit into this scene. He couldn't imagine a time where he’d fit into this morning routine of theirs that they evidently had down pat. He watched as Delia sat down herself and smiled at the familial scene before her.

It took more of a hassle than it was usually worth, especially since just a few short months ago he was _already_ invisible to everyone but demons and the dead, but Beetlejuice could turn himself invisible and intangible enough that not even Juno wouldn't be able to pick him out from among the scenery if she was here. Perks of being a demon and all, but the con was the curse making it a functionally useless skill. Until now, apparently.

With more effort than he thought it should take he turned himself invisible and inserted himself into the background of the tableau.

In all honesty, it was a lot more boring than he expected it to be, especially since he was actively trying to remain unnoticed, which was a lot harder than actively _trying_ to be noticed. Adam and Barbara prodded at Lydia about what was happening today at school while Delia looked on, making encouraging noises whenever Lydia offered them up a small tidbit, and Charles continued reading his paper.

He perked up when his name was mentioned, but slouched back down when he realized it was only to say that he was probably still sleeping and Lydia could hang out with him after she finished her homework that afternoon. His eyes soon glazed over and he let the morning routine and dance continue without making note of anything in particular. 

Lydia finally stood up, grabbed her backpack, and said her goodbyes, kissing Charles and Delia on the cheek and letting the group to tell BJ hey and they’d hang out later when they saw him, which made his stomach squirm like it was full of beetles.

It was nice that she planned on hanging out with him when she got home, but that still left a whole day of nothingness that he’d have to fill. He tried to think of what he normally did when he wasn’t with Lydia, but his ears flicked backwards when he realized it was mostly filled with aimless walking around, unappreciated pranks, and being ready to ask how high when Juno said jump.

Speaking of tedious tasks, Beetlejuice felt the familiar tug that signaled a Guide was about to appear. At least it was something to do, he thought to himself, as he appeared in some podunk town in the Southern US.

He returned several hours later to a quiet house, which wasn’t any less eerie in the bright light of midday. He’d managed to kill a few hours with that Guide and a few others that weren’t on his radar, per se, but he didn’t think the demon he took them over from would mind the break too much.

Beetlejuice definitely wouldn’t if it were him. In fact, there was a not negligible possibility that the spirit from yesterday was there due him shirking his Satan-given demonic duty to help ghosts pass on to the other side. In his defense, it was a huge job and he _did_ have underlings that also did guides, though he was in charge of them in paper only- Juno did the actual directing. One of them could have just as easily beefed it.

It was still on him if that was the case, but no one was really paying attention and anyone downstairs who might notice would likely be happy at less paperwork and processing anyhow. Netherworld clerical duty just didn’t pay like it used to. Or at all.

Nevertheless, he still found himself with several more hours to kill and nothing to do. Drugs weren’t allowed, per house rules, and pranking wasn’t the same without Lydia there to egg him on. But his eyes brightened when he remembered that just upstairs were two wonderful ghosts that, if they didn’t have an active desire to talk to him, would at least tolerate him enough to allow him in the room.

It was _perfect._

He floated upstairs, bypassing the staircase altogether and stopped at the attic entrance and paused there for a moment, listening intently. He could hear the sounds of movement inside. Remembering the conversation from the previous night, he raised a fist and knocked at the door, causing the source to echo far louder than it was naturally able and sniggered at the startled yelp and small crash he heard from inside.

A few heavy footsteps later and the door was opened to reveal the wonderful sight of Barbara with Adam in the background picking up some fallen wooden sticks.

“Beetlejuice?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out. Seriously, don’t.”

“Right,” Barbara drawled out. “Did you need something?”

Her face was less intense than it was last night, which was a positive and some tension Beetlejuice didn’t realize he was still holding left his shoulders. “Nah, Babs. Just wanted to hang out a bit.”

She seemed unconvinced and made a noncommittal noise before seeming to overcome some internal debate and stepping aside to let him in.

“Good morning, Beetlejuice!” Adam said, collecting the last of the fallen popsicle sticks and setting them on the table next to him. A table, Beetlejuice noticed for the first time, that contained an expansive model of what looked like the town.

He walked to the table, leaning forward to take in a closer look. There were dozens of small, intricately decorated wooden houses. Each one was placed with notable precision, if the tiny gridlines on the table were anything to go by, and he could even see painted on window fronts of the stores on Main Street and the nearby shops. A couple dozen miniscule people were scattered around the town, each placed so it seemed like they were mimicking a snapshot of real life, rather than taken from memory.

His eyes scripted the town until he saw the Maitland-Deetz house with its historical spires and gothic architecture. Little Charles, Lydia, Delia, Adam, and Barbara were all standing on the porch with picturesque smiles on each of their faces. 

Holy shit. This thing was immaculate. The amount of time that must have gone into its construction was unthinkable. He rarely had the patience to read through an entire paragraph of the _Guidebook for the Recently Deceased_ without a shot of something strong enough to kill a man, but these two had somehow managed to recreate their whole lives in miniature since the last time Beetlejuice had been there.

“Beetlejuice?” Adam asked.

“Hm?” Whoops, he’d forgotten to answer him. “Oh, yeah. Morning A-dog.”

“Did you sleep well?” Adam asked, ever the polite bastard.

Beetlejuice raised a hand to poke at one of the benches in the mini park, but lowered it again. He’d probably break it by accident if he did that.

“Yeah, actually. Don’t normally do breather shit like sleep but it was good.”

He watched as Barbara picked up the framing of another small building. It didn’t look like a house, but it was hard to tell without the paint on it, but she had a brush in hand so he wouldn’t have to wait long for the mystery to be solved.

“Really? I like sleeping at night. It’s a good way to still feel a little bit alive, following those same habits. Besides,” Adam chuckled, “I think Barbara and I would get bored at night if we didn’t. There’s not really a lot going on after dark. When there was no response from the demon, he continued, “What do you do to pass the time, then, if you don’t sleep?”

“'Dunno. It’s not really been an issue ‘til now.”

Adam squinted his eyes. “What do you mean? You don’t have _night_ in the Netherworld?”

He was clearly joking, but he wasn’t wrong. “Nah. It’s all just one continuous,” he made a slow, slicing gesture in the air, “nothing. No day, no night. It just is.”

“Oh. That sounds…” Adam frowned, trailing off.

“Very boring,” Barbara finished. “And stressful. How do you know when it’s time to rest or go to work if there's no day or night? You mentioned before that the dead have jobs, so there must be some schedule people have to keep?

He continued peering at the town, noticing a small man throwing a frisbee to a brown and white dog in the small park. “Time doesn’t work the same in the Netherworld as it does here. Generally, it moves faster. Like if I spent a week down there I could come back up and find that a month’s passed. But, like, on a day to day basis, it moves in spurts. Five minutes could take an hour to actually pass or a week could flow by in an hour. You don’t really go by a schedule like you do here. It’s kinda complicated to explain, but it just flows.”

He’d run out of words. Beetlejuice wasn’t the best at explaining things, and the physics of time and space of the Netherworld was way above his pay grade and education level, which was nill.

“Flows?” Adam prodded.

Beetlejuice tore his eyes away from the model to meet Adam’s gaze. He was leaning forward on his stool and looked fascinated at what he was saying, like he did last night when talking about the birds.

People listening to him and caring about what he was saying was still a whole new flavor, one he liked, like cherry pie. But sometimes there was just too much cherry, too much attention all at once. He wasn’t there quite yet, not by a long shot, but the attention was still unsettling.

Not that he didn’t get attention in the Netherworld, but it was usually more along the horny or angry lines and this was neither.

He nodded, stepping away from the town to flop down onto a nearby chair. It was uglier than sin, but felt like a cloud when he laid down on it. “Flows. Like… like a river? I guess? Sometimes fast, sometimes slow.” He glanced at one of the little red cars in the model. It was a bug. “Or maybe like a highway. All those cars going at different speeds. And time here is like… I don’t know.” 

He growled lightly in frustration. This was so damn difficult to explain in any coherent way. It was easier to just live it and figure it out. Nevertheless, he persisted. “It’s just a clock in the Upperworld. It keeps ticking at the same pace no matter what. That probably didn’t make any sense at all, but that’s the best you’re gonna get,” Beetlejuice sighed.

“No!”

Beetlejuice definitely didn’t jump at the sudden loud tone. Because that would be uncool and he was the coolest. 

“Sorry,” Adam said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That was louder than I meant.”

“No sweat off my back, A-dog.”

“Still, my bad. I just meant to say that it made a lot of sense and it’s all very interesting,” he chirped. “I didn’t realize that time would work in a way other than, you know, how it _does_.”

Barbara hummed, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she stroked blue paint onto the siding of her building. “What about like how it does near black holes?”

“What the fuck is a black hole?”

“Oh!” Adam said excitedly. “It’s this thing in space that is so dense and massive that it sucks everything into it. Planets, stars, light, _everything_. Nothing can escape it. It’s really interesting and pretty cool if I do say so myself.”

“And you do say so,” Beetlejuice grinned as Adam nodded. “You learn that in your astrology class too?”

“How’d you know I took astronomy?” he asked, not accusingly.

Shit, was he not supposed to remember that or something? “You mentioned it the other day.”

“And you remembered?”

He narrowed his eyes at Adam, vaguely offended. “My memory isn’t _that_ bad.”

“No, no! That’s not what I mean. I just… ugh. Barbara?” he asked, voice edging towards stress and light panic.

She sighed and seemed fond but exasperated. “ _Adam_.” She looked at Beetlejuice. “It doesn’t matter. A lot’s been happening and I don’t think he expected you to remember a passing comment like that.”

“Yes,” Adam vehemently agreed. “That’s it exactly. I didn’t mean to insinuate you have bad memory or offend you or anything.”

Of course he remembered. He wanted to learn all about these two losers. For such boring people, they were so interesting and full of unexpected surprises and depths that Beetlejuice didn’t expect. Each time he thought he had them figured out they pulled some shit like having built an entire model town.

“No biggie. You don’t have to worry about offending or insulting me. There’s not much bad you can say about me that isn’t true and I have a pretty thick skin anyways, so…” he shrugged.

“Still, you’re kind of living here now, and we want to be, uh, nice. I suppose that’s the word.”

“Polite?” Barbara suggested.

“Both.” Adam agreed. "We want to be nice and polite to you and that means not purposefully saying things that insult you.”

Okay, this was getting to be far too much emotion talk for so early in the morning, ignoring the fact that it was early afternoon by now. But it was still so fucking _sweet_ they cared about stupid shit like his feelings. He fought back a smile. The Netherworld would have eaten them alive in a heartbeat if they’d gone there.

“Don’t worry about it, A-dog.”

“But—”

“ _Anyways_ , Babs. You were talking about black holes?”

“Oh. Yes, I was,” she smiled at him. “Thanks. I’d forgotten. What was I going to say? Ah, time. Apparently even _time_ bends when you get near black holes. Because of how dense it is, time slows down as you get closer to it. I don’t know _why_ it does that, but it’s pretty interesting either way.”

“I wonder if there’s a documentary on the Netflix we can watch about it?” Adam asked.

“Ooh, you're right,” Barbara cooed. “We can ask Lydia about it when she gets home and watch it on our next date night.”

Why did he like these nerds again? He didn’t even know what Netflix was, but who watched documentaries for fun? They were still making bedroom eyes at each other, though, and he didn’t appreciate being invisible when he was in the same room as them, this morning notwithstanding, and he cleared his throat, startling them both out of their weird lovers trance they had going on.

They both jumped and looked at him with sheepish expressions.

“I see Babs working on her little building thing over there,” Beetlejuice said.

“It’s going to be the old pharmacy on Clebourne Street. Remember, Adam, when we had to go there for your prescription when Walgreens was closed?”

Adam hummed. “Yeah. He gave us back too much change and refused to admit it. Weird guy.”

“Yeah,” Barbara looked down and suddenly looked sad. “I wonder if he’s still alive? Or if the pharmacy is even still there?”

“I… huh. I don’t know. Maybe we can get one of the others to check next time they go out?”

Barbara didn’t look mollified and Beetlejuice could understand that somewhat. He wasn’t tethered to the house anymore, and he wasn’t around long enough to feel the cage bars close in around him, but he could see how it would be depressing for them to be stuck here as everything changed around them. It was better than the confines of the the Netherworld, but still.

“I guess so,” Barbara said. She cleared her throat. “But, anyways, Beetlejuice. You were saying?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He’d honestly forgotten he’d started this whole conversational thread. “So you,” he pointed at Barbara, “have your little pharmacy you’re working on. But you,” he pointed to Adam, “What are you working on? Because it seems like you’re just sitting around looking pretty and letting Babs here do all the work. And, believe me, I love it when I can just stare at people sitting around looking hot as shit, but tsk tsk Adam. Rude of you to let your gorgeous wife do all the hard work. Where’s the equality,” he asked as dramatically as possible, proud of the flush that’d appeared on Adams cheeks and spread down his neck and Barbara’s smug and flattered grin.

“Thank… you? But I’m not letting Barbara do _all_ the work, or well, I mean she is. But she hasn’t been? I mean,” Adam cut himself off with a groan, placing his head in his hands as Barbara and Beetlejuice shared matching smiles, letting Adam continue to flounder. He clasped his hands together and took in a deep breath. “We ran out of materials. I help! I swear I do, but, uh, yeah. We ran out of materials.”

Barbara set down the pharmacy, which now had all four main walls covered in a light blue color. “Right. We ran out of it a couple days ago, but we feel bad asking Lydia to get us more since it’s not like she works and we don’t really have an income anymore.”

“Delia and Charles would probably get us some if we asked,” Adam added. “But it just feels weird asking.”

“We’re already living in their house and everything so asking for more just feels ungrateful. I don’t think _they’d_ see it that way. In fact,” she chuckled, “Delia would probably be grateful for the excuse to go back to the craft store. But it still feels weird.”

Adam nodded. “Exactly. So we just haven’t.”

Beetlejuice didn’t know what to make of all that. Maitlands 2.0 were supposed to be braver and bolder than all that, but he supposed old habits die hard, and they were nothing but unfailingly polite, even to their own detriment.

Beetlejuice stood up, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles and neck. “What materials do y’all need?”

“What materials?” Adam asked. “Mostly wood. We’ve been using this thin alder wood to make the buildings, but it’s kind of expensive. And some paints. Especially black and green for some reason. We keep running out of it”

With a flick of his hand there were piles of alder wood and paints on the floor. Summoning items from nothing took more effort than simply retrieving them from his pocket dimension, which he used to store items he’d already summoned or possessed, but some wood and paint was hardly any more effort than talking. 

“That work?” Beetlejuice asked. “If they aren’t the right types I can change them up no problem.”

The pair gaped at him and Adam rushed forward to look at the summoned materials. “Beetlejuice, this is _amazing_ . Seriously, thank you so much. This is enough wood to last us a month _at least_.”

Barbara had her hands placed up to her mouth, covering an obvious delighted smile. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with all the thank yous and their weirdly appreciative responses, Beetlejuice shrugged. “It’s seriously no big deal. You guys could probably summon some of the smaller stuff yourself if you really wanted to.”

“Really?” Barbara asked, standing up to join the pair.

“How?” Adam asked in a rush, betraying his eagerness. “Can you teach us?”

Barbara placed a hand on Adam’s arm. “Ooh, yeah! It’ll be just like when you taught us how to scare people. That was pretty fun while it lasted.”

They both turned to him with wide eyes and hopeful faces, and while a prince of hell he might be, immune to twin puppy-dog faces of cute demons he was not.

“Uh, sure. Let’s start with something small.”

“I need more of the blue paint I was using for the second coat,” Barbara said. “Is that small enough? Just a tube of it?”

“Sure. Why not?” There were no hard and fast rules for this sort of thing. “Now picture the item in your mind and summon it.”

“But how?”

“How what?”

“How do I summon it?”

Good question. Beetlejuice wasn’t entirely sure. He only had his own experience to go by and it was largely intuitive. He focused on what he wanted and _pulled_ and the object would be there. Creating objects out of nothing was different, but they were just summoning items that already existed, which was much easier. 

Actually, it was probably better not to mention that last part as he was sure they’d consider it stealing and therefore morally wrong, but hey, they were dead. They got to choose their own morals now and stealing paint was hardly on the list of top one thousand horrible things a ghost could do, so he decided to spare them the inner conflict.

“You just do,” he said.

Adam frowned at him. “That’s not very helpful.”

“Well, I don’t know! It’s not like there’s a guidebook on how to be a ghost. I mean, there _is_ , but it doesn’t have anything actually helpful in it, like how to use your powers.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even more like a rat’s nest crossed with a punk rocker’s hair. “Look, Babs. Just focus on what you want and try to imagine it like you already had it. You might feel a pulling sensation and if you do just go with it.”

He watched as both of them closed their eyes and made ridiculous pinched up faces. They waved their hands around and made grasping motions with their hands, which was all wonderfully hilarious, but no items magically appeared.

“Maybe we can’t do it,” Adam said eventually, expression defeated. “Maybe it’s just a demon thing.”

He rushed to comfort him, a desire that he didn’t often experience and one that was limited to two ghosts and one breather girl. “No. You can do it. Both of you. It’ll just take a bit of practice. Like floating. Remember that? It took you _hours_ to get that one.”

“Huh, yeah. I guess that’s true.”

“Oh!” Barbara yelped, startling Beetlejuice and Adam. She held out an apple to them. “Look!”

Beetlejuice and Adam shared a glance, both of them tacitly agreeing that they were confused and what’s the big deal about an apple? They were everywhere. 

“It’s an apple?” Adam responded.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Right, it’s an apple!” They both stared blankly at her. “It’s an apple that wasn’t here two minutes ago.”

“Oh? Oh! Oh my goodness, Barbara, that’s amazing! Seriously, you are amazing. How’d you do that?” Adam asked excitedly.

“Why an apple?” Beetlejuice asked, feeling a bit proud of her himself. Not bad for baby’s first object summoning.

She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a light streak of blue paint in it. “It seemed easier than the paint. But it was sort of like Beetlejuice said. I focused on it and could feel a tightness? Almost like pressure, but not really, and it just appeared. It’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Guess I better get practicing then,” Adam joked. “Can’t let you surpass me too much at Ghost Skills 101.”

She laughed. “No slackers allowed in this house! Except us on the weekends.”

“Psh, of course. That’s different,” he teased.

Beetlejuice smiled to himself. They were so damn sweet he was getting cavities just based on proximity. Still, he snapped his fingers and held out a small tube of paint to Barbara. “Just until you can summon it yourself,” he said.

She turned to him with a soft smile. “Thank you, Beetlejuice. Seriously. It means a lot that you’d do this for us. You don’t have to say anything in response if you don’t want to but I just wanted you to know that.”

“I agree with her, for the record,” Adam said. 

Beetlejuice felt a tightness in his chest that wasn’t quite pain and it wasn’t anger or sadness or any of the emotions he was familiar with but it made him feel softer somehow. He was grateful Barbara gave him an out to not respond, though, because, as always, he wasn’t sure what to say in the face of genuine positive emotion directed at him. He could make a joke out of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to want to destroy the mood they’d created in the room. So he just nodded, praying the heat on his cheeks was just the sun and not a blush rising him. The Maitlands looked amused now though, so maybe not.

Barbara handed him the apple. “We can’t eat it anyways. You want it?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, taking it and crunching it down in one massive bite.

Barbara cleared her throat, a distinctly breather action, that only made the tightness in Beetlejuice’s chest increase. “Did you want to work on the model with us?”

He glanced at Adam who appeared to be in agreement with his wife, even without the couple telepathy.

“Are you sure? I’m not really artistically talented. I don’t want to mess things up.”

“Of course! It’s not about looking perfect. It’s about spending time with friends and family. The others have worked on it too, not much mind you, but some,” Barbara said.

Was what he was now? A friend? He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was or even couple be family, but friends might be possible. He was friends with Lydia so maybe he could expand that circle to include the Maitlands as well. Beetlejuice couldn’t help the wide smile at the thought and he was sure his hair reflected a bright green as well.

“But if it’s not your thing, we totally understand,” Adam added and, while Beetlejuice could take that as a subtle jab and indicate that they’d like him to leave, he didn’t think that’s what Adam meant and wasn’t that just an odd thought?

“As long as you don’t mind it looking like shit, then sure.”

“Perfect,” Barbara said, smiling brightly, an expression that lit up her whole face. “You and Adam can work on building the new frames while I finish up painting now that I have more blue paint.”

Adam picked up a piece of the wood and handed it to Beetlejuice. “Sounds like a plan!”

They worked in quiet company for long enough that they heard Delia return from whatever outing she’d been on, though none of them chose to get up and greet her. Beetlejuice was right. His building looked like shit. It was constructed correctly, entirely thanks to Adam, but he didn’t possess either the fine hand-eye coordination nor the patience to make it look like the perfectly polished buildings already displayed.

He examined the building with a critical eye. It was supposed to be some barber shop, but it looked more like it belonged to Sweeney Todd than whatever normal Joe Schmoe ran it. It didn’t matter in the end, because even if they ‘accidentally’ lost it as soon as he left, which he expected and didn’t blame them for one bit, it was nice to spend time with them.

Beetlejuice wasn’t used to quiet company like this. His normal interactions with others were normally loud, chaotic, and only lasted long enough to achieve the purpose of the meeting. It wasn’t like that with the Maitlands. There was no point to this, not really. They were all here with each other because they _wanted_ to be and for no deeper reason than that.

They didn’t want him for his powers, even if they did help them continue the model, because they could have gotten the wood and paint and stuff just fine without him. They didn’t even want him there to help fulfill a Contract or even to prank someone. He was there solely because they wanted him to be.

The odd tightness in his chest returned, but he found that he didn’t mind it.

Eventually even the Maitlands got tired of working on their model and gently shooed him away. He found Lydia in her room, but apparently she had something called ‘homework’ to do and would be busy for a couple more hours at least. He’d initially offered to help but ducked out at the sight of all that math— who the hell needed so many letters and squiggly lines in math? 2+2=4 was enough for him, thank you very much.

Beetlejuice wandered around for a bit, aimless and bored. He ran through his list of options for people to bother and came to the unfortunate conclusion that Delia was the only person in the house at the moment who hadn’t already kicked him out. Not that she was _bad_ company per se. They just didn’t have as much in common.

Still, he poked his head into Delia’s room and found her sitting in the middle of the floor with short boxes filled with various stones scattered around her, each organized by color. There were a few laying in front of her, not in boxes, that she was picking up and examining one by one.

Clearing his throat he tapped at the door with raised knuckles.

Delia froze, looking up with one hand still clenched around a long, oblong rock she’d just picked up.

“Oh, hello Beetlejuice. How’re you doing?”

He slowly edged into her room, stepping forward more confidently when she didn’t immediately stop him. “Good,” he replied, unsure why it mattered. “What’re you up to?”

“Just going through some of my crystals. I like to change out the ones I put around the house sometimes so they can have time to recharge.”

He nodded encouragingly and Delia gestured to him to come sit with her. He obliged, gently maneuvering some of the containers out of his way so he could sit across from her.

She looked at him consideringly, which almost unnerved him but it didn’t appear malicious so he allowed the examination as Delia mulled over whatever was running through her crazy squirrel brain.

“You can sense energy, right?” Well that definitely wasn’t what he thought she was going to say.

“Depends on what you mean by that. Like I can pick up on spiritual energy no problem, but if we’re talking about radiation or some shit, then no,” Beetlejuice replied.

Delia muttered something under her breath and thrust a small, orange stone at him. It had black stripes of varying thicknesses along the top of it and was smooth to the touch. “What about this one? Does it have any energy in it?”

Beetlejuice rubbed a thumb along the top of it, feeling a slight static in his brain as he did so. “Yeah, feels sort of like drinking battery acid. Not bad, just tingly.”

She hummed and took the stone back from him. “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I can’t feel the crystal’s intrinsic energy like you do but that one is supposed to help harmonize different people’s energies. Maybe the static means it's working? Or maybe it means that it’s _not_ working?” She set the stone aside in a separate, empty container with a thoughtful expression.

“Let’s see,” she muttered, dragging the box of black crystals towards her and pulling out one, seemingly at random. “What about this one?”

He picked it up and focused. Nothing, unfortunately. He told her as much. This went on for dozens more crystals, most having no energy to speak of. But some he could sense even before she placed them in his hands.

The white ones tended to be softer, like the prickle of snow on your skin after you leave a warm area. Some of the black stones, the long ones with jagged edges, made his brain foggy and he gave those back to Delia almost as soon as she handed them to him. The smoother black stones with the silver speckles had an almost warm aura to them though.

Soon they had two neat piles in front of them, those with energy and those depleted of it. “Okay, last one, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, finding that it wasn’t even a lie. It was surprisingly nice spending time with Delia like this. She was more focused than he’d ever seen her and had a quiet intelligence and sincerity that he was just now getting the opportunity to see. He didn’t think they’d ever be as close of friends as he and Lydia, and that was a pretty high bar anyways, but he found he didn’t mind her company. He wasn’t ready to admit that he liked hanging out with her quite yet, but he was enjoying himself.

The stones themselves were boring, except for the purple one that felt like snorting a kilo of coke while dancing naked under the moonlight, but it made Delia giddy as she sorted through the crystals, explaining the intended purpose of each of them.

“That’s sweet of you,” she said, “but I’m sure you have better things to be doing right now than hanging out with me and my boring crystals.”

“Not really. And they aren’t _that_ boring.”

She leveled a look at him and he laughed, loud and bright. “Maybe some of them are,” he allowed.

She hummed knowingly and handed him a small blue stone that had overlapping, faint white stripes crisscrossing through and over it. Immediately he felt his shoulders relax and years of built-up muscle tension released. He breathed a sigh of pure bliss and felt his eyelids lower.

“We have a winner then?”

“Winner?” he echoed, head foggy, but not in the way it normally was with drugs or anxiety or the overwhelming need to _be seen_. This felt more like floating in the ocean, up and down up and down, like he could just _let go_ and allow himself to relax. Even the fear of potentially drowning couldn’t touch him just then.

“Looks like that’s a good one then. You should keep it.”

“Keep it? But it’s yours.” He forced himself to set the stone down, feeling the calmness diminish, but not disappear entirely. 

Delia shook her head. “Consider it a thank you gift for helping me sort through all of these.”

He knew, objectively, that thank you gifts were things that existed, but they didn’t exist for _him._ Beetlejuice didn’t get things like gifts (Barbara’s apple aside and even that had thrown him for a loop), much less ones given in exchange for his _help._ Except that wouldn’t be a gift then, would it? It’d just be payment and this wasn’t payment— Delia had just told him so.

Beetlejuice picked the stone back up and felt his throat tighten and something prickle at his eyes. 

“Oh, your hair,” Delia said sadly, looking at him with a pained expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he choked out, proud of himself for not letting his voice crack over the two words, which had suddenly become the hardest two words in the English language, topping even antidisestablishmentarianism and pulchritudinous. 

He didn’t even know why this was upsetting him. He was _happy_ , he knew that. But he was also sad? Emotions didn’t normally come in pairs like that and he didn’t care for it. Maybe it was a symptom of his brief foray as a human. They had so many emotions all at once, overlapping and so much stronger than he’d felt before.

“Your hair’s purple again. Like it has streaks of purple in it over the green,” Delia said, still with her dumb, concerned face and gentle voice.

Beetlejuice swiped a hand roughly through his hair, yanking a clump down so he could see the ridiculous shape it had decided to turn and ignoring Delia’s cry of _be careful, don’t hurt yourself_.

“Don’t worry about it, Dense,” he said, standing up abruptly. This was… this was too much. Too much all at once and he needed to retreat _now_.

She still looked concerned, but stood up as well and clasped both of his hands in hers. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, Beetlejuice. You don’t need to keep the sodalite if you don’t want to?”

He looked down at their hands with a pinched face. “There’s no lite soda here,” he mumbled.

Delia had a fond smile on her face as she said, “That’s the name of the crystal. It’s called a sodalite. It’s supposed to help calm you down and ease stress.”

“Right,” he said, feeling monumentally stupid. Of course she wasn’t talking about soda. That would be dumb.

Taking back her hands, Delia patted Beetlejuice on the shoulder and smiled. “It’s alright. I’m pretty sure Charles still doesn’t know that rose quartz is a rock and not a plant and we must have gone over it about a hundred times by now.”

“Classic Chuck,” he joked back, even though he didn’t know until just then that it was a rock either. He’d die again before ever admitting it though.

Delia’s knowing smile told him that she might already know. “So are you okay?” she asked. “Your hair’s mostly green again.” Delia reached up and ran her fingers the clump Beetlejuice had almost yanked out earlier and Beetlejuice had to stop himself from leaning into the gentle touch.

“Purple means you’re sad, right?”

It wasn’t often someone could figure him out so quickly, much less someone who, if they didn’t actually care about him, was at least willing to put in enough effort to pretend, which was more than Juno had ever done.

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice said. “But I promise you didn’t upset me. It was just me getting caught up in my own thoughts, like always.”

“Well, then I suppose you better keep this then,” she said, tone brooking no argument, as she once again handed him the sodalite.

He took the stone carefully from her, like it was something so fragile that it might break at his touch. He didn’t say thank you. That was simply going too far, but Delia still had the audacity to tell him you’re welcome anyways and ask if he wanted to join her cooking downstairs.

“You can’t be worse than Charles,” she laughed.

Turns out cooking is the fucking worst thing in the world and he hates it with a burning passion. Even the little blue stone in his pocket couldn’t stop his panic when he accidentally set the oil on fire, sending a miniature inferno skyrocketing, which in turn set the fume hood on fire. Fortunately, Delia had the good sense to throw baking soda on it, stifling the flames, since Beetlejuice had already summoned a bucket of water that he was about to douse it with.

Apparently water makes grease fires worse, which is a crock of shit in his opinion. Who’d ever heard of water making a fire worse?

Somehow Delia didn’t summarily banish him from the kitchen after that, instead only telling him to be more careful around the oven and promising future kitchen etiquette lessons.

Charles had walked in at some point, gaping at the pair of them, though that might have been particularly due to Beetlejuice smiling at him with a raised knife that was covered in red strawberry residue. Delia told him to either help or get out and Charles hurried away faster than Beetlejuice had seen him move before.

(Delia told him that Charles had somehow managed to start a kitchen fire making noodles when they first got together and Beetlejuice’s grease fire was nothing compared to that disaster, which made him feel marginally better about the whole thing.)

Soon they had plates on the table and the food prepared on the stove— some Mediterranean chicken dish that had his mouth watering, complete with strawberry oatmeal bars for dessert. Those didn’t enthuse him nearly as much but Delia was delighted to explain the healing properties of oatmeal to him while they were making them. It sounded like a load of horse shit, but natural items, like Delia’s crystals, chalk, or herbs, did tend to have more of a connection to otherworldly shit so he couldn’t completely discount the possibility that she was right.

Delia called upstairs for everyone to calm down and they heard the thuds of Lydia coming down the stairs almost immediately. She stuck her head into the kitchen and looked taken aback seeing Beetlejuice and Delia already there together.

“The heck?” she asked.

Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out at her, a gesture that she returned while crossing her eyes. Beetlejuice reached up and pulled at his eyelids so the underneath was exposed. Lydia flipped him off and tugged at her ears, puffing up her cheeks like a pufferfish, each of them trying not to laugh as they tried to one up the other’s ridiculous face.

“Children,” Delia scolded. They both looked at her with sheepish expressions, but cracked up laughing when Delia pressed a thumb against her nose to smush it in and made a horrible oinking noise.

The laughter was starting to trail off when Charles walked in, only to start up again at his confused look.

A few minutes later, they were all settled at the table, Charles at one head of the table with Delia next to him. Barbara sat across from Charles with Adam sitting between her and Delia. Beetlejuice and Lydia were sitting next to one another playing footsie as Lydia picked at the last bites of her food, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. Beetlejuice had already cleaned the plate and then eaten the plate, which earned him several unhappy faces, but it tasted _good_ so sue him.

This led to their current project: listing all non-traditional food items that Beetlejuice had ever eaten in a ranked list. Right now colored paper, cans, and bugs were ranked at the top of the list, which Lydia had labeled positive. There were a couple dozen other items in that category, but those were his favorites. There was also a neutral category, which had things like the plate he’d just eaten, various cutlery, wood, and several other items that had gotten him odd looks from the rest of the table. Fuck those guys though. They were talking about _taxes_. This was much more fun. The negative category was much less populated, as Beetlejuice wasn’t actually picky about what he put in his mouth. He put snakes on that list, not because he didn’t like the taste of them, but because it seemed a bit too close to cannibalism for his liking.

Dinner, somehow, passed eventually and with a certain calmness that Beetlejuice hadn’t expected. There weren’t any passive aggressive remarks or thinly veiled threats. Instead, conversation flowed freely and the tension he expected at his presence simply wasn’t there, their routines imply shifting to adapt to his presence, like a river moving around a boulder that had fallen into its path. He had to tone down the sexual remarks that were always on the tip of his tongue, but that seemed to help as well, rather than providing a convenient excuse to break an uncomfortable mood.

They all separated after everyone was finished, Charles and Adam staying behind to do the dishes with a teasing warning that he’d soon be added to the family chore roster, the word family freezing him in his steps before he made a crack that they could add him but they needed to prepare for him messing everything up.

The joke didn’t land and Delia chirped that they’d teach him. He and Lydia quickly escaped to her room to play video games after that. Conversation flowed freely and Beetlejuice learned that he was kick-ass at Mario Kart, but Call of Duty was a mystery that he couldn’t parse. He might have died a few times? He was still confused about that part.

The evening came and passed and Beetlejuice amused himself by systematically hunting down every bug in the house and eating it. It was a bit tricky getting under the beds without waking everyone up, but he managed.

At last the sun came up and with it Beetlejuice’s excitement about the prospect of hanging out with Lydia grew only to be dashed when he was informed with barely as backwards glance as Lydia rushed out the door that it was Monday and she had school. Soon, Delia and Charles left as well, leaving him and the Maitlands alone in the house.

He passed the day with them mostly, broken up with a few guides and a long trip to the roof when their company, however pleasant, rubbed against his habitual isolation of the past few centuries. It was a good day that passed more smoothly than he expected. He didn't have many good days so they tended to stand out, and here he was having three in a row.

Soon, he heard a series of doors opening and closing as the Deetz all arrived home for the day. His ears perked up and he floated down from the rooftop. He was making his way to her room, when he was stopped by Charles, who somehow looked like his hair had taken up a side-gig as a rat’s nest.

It made sense a moment later when Charles anxiously rubbed his fingers through it.

“Mr. Juice,” he said stiffly.

“Mr. Chuckie,” Beetlejuice said, bemused.

Charles’s frown deepened. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to see if Lys was up so we could hang out.”

“She has homework.”

“Right,” he drawled. Didn't she have homework yesterday too? “After that then.” Homework sounded like nothing more than a form of torture for young people that he thought Lydia should forgo as frequently as possible, but he wasn’t going to argue that with Charles.

Charles stared at him for a long moment, enough that Beetlejuice was ready to apparate back to the roof just to make it stop. It was unnerving and creepy in a way he didn’t appreciate.

“I think we should go to the store together?”

Beetlejuice half reeled back, face scrunched in confusion. “The store? The fuck are you talking about— why would do that?”

Charles sighed and looked around desperately for help that wouldn’t come. They’d have to manage this conversation by themselves. It was a unique misery.

“Because,” he started and then appeared lost for words. “Because you’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future and we should make an attempt to… to get to know each other. See if we can get along.”

It didn’t seem like a likely possibility to Beetlejuice, but he was willing to give it a shot. It’d make Lydia happy and that was always a feather in his hat, but the whole thing still stunk like one of Delia's ideas.

“And you want us to do that by shopping?” he asked, doubt seeping into his tone. He hadn’t been to a grocery store in centuries, long before electricity was a thing and while they still sold cocaine in sodas. He'd kill for a Coca-Cola with actual coke in it just then

“Yes, that's correct," he said archly. "I need to go anyways for a few items and you might as well come along.” Charles looked him up and down slowly. Beetlejuice refrained from making a crack at him about it, but the desire was strong and he felt he deserved a medal for his show of willpower.

“Is there something you can do about the suit?”

Beetlejuice’s eyes narrowed. “Fucking rude.”

“Ah, right. Sorry. It just… draws a lot of attention. Could you change just for while we’re out?”

He hummed, a dissatisfied tone. He hadn’t even agreed to this shopping trip yet and Charles was already nitpicking his outfit choice. Grumbling, Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and sent his suit to his pocket dimension. He was left wearing a simple pair of jeans and a plain gray hoodie. Beetlejuice tugged at the strings.

“Does this pass inspection, Captain Charles sir?” he snarked, still unhappy about the whole thing. He’d do it but he never promised to not be a shit.

“It’s fine,” Charles said, refusing to rise to the bait. “Let’s go.”"

"Let's go, go, go," he mumbled, following Charles to the car.

The ride to the small grocery store was quiet and they grabbed their buggy and began walking down the aisles in silence. Beetlejuice had had better bonding experiences with sandworms. At least they made enough noise to let you know they were there.

The bright, unnatural light of the store was hurting his eyes too. Everything was too clean and sanitized, looking like it belonged on TV rather than in real life. Artificial colors were on every package and can and it made his head hurt. He longed for the softness and dull tones of the outdoors. Trees never betrayed him like this.

Charles, the bastard, didn’t look phased at all. Beetlejuice admonished himself. It wasn’t his fault the store was a migraine and over-stimulation waiting to happen. It wasn’t even his fault that he brought Beetlejuice here.

Beetlejuice poked at a can of beans that was at eye-level. The package made them look appealing, but a sniff in their general direction revealed the thousand layers of dust and hands that had already touched the can. He gagged slightly into his hand. The place reeked of breather cleaning chemicals, but the stench of so many bodies with their unique dirts and perfumes and odors was still there, underlying it.

Charles was already on the next aisle and Beetlejuice trotted after him. He glanced sideways at Beetlejuice. “Why do you look like you’re in pain? Or is that just your face?”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“I don’t think you have any room to talk.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “Fair.”

He watched as Charles placed a few more boxes into their cart. The happy-looking tiger on the front seemed like it was mocking him and he bared his teeth slightly, knowing it was ridiculous, but his head hurt and the lights were too bright and he didn’t want to be there and _why the fuck was Charles looking at him like that_?

“Are you… alright?”

“Of course, Chuck. Why do you ask?”

Charles hummed. “I was going to say you’re acting odd, but I don’t think I know you well enough to make that judgement call.”

Beetlejuice didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t wrong.

They continued going up and down every aisle in silence. Beetlejuice watched as an old woman examined two boxes of oatmeal that appeared identical to him. Breathers were a very strange species.

Two teenage boys entered the aisle and he noticed them in passing as Charles picked something up and marked it off his list. They were similar jeans that were resting low enough on their hips that their underwear was visible. He had a brief pang of longing for centuries past when almost everyone left their house dressed to impress.

Beetlejuice tugged his hoodie strings again. He did have to admit that modern clothes were more comfortable that suits, even if they were less flattering.

“Can we get cookies?” Beetlejuice asked, apropos of nothing, unaware he was going to ask it until the words were already out of his mouth.

Charles looked up in confusion. “Cookies?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I don’t remember ever having any and they always sounded good.”

“You’ve— how have you never had cookies before?” Charles lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re over a thousand years old.”

Beetlejuice shrugged. “Sugar used to be a lot harder to come by and no one wanted to take time to make them. At least no one I hung around did. And it’s not like I spend my time up top sampling the cuisine.”

Charles hummed and looked thoughtful. “That makes sense. We can get some. Delia and Lydia like the red velvet ones, but I’m partial to chocolate chip myself. Do you know if you have a favorite?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t generally picky enough with food to have much of a preference at all.

“Well, you’ll just have to try them all and find out. Come on, I think they’re on the next aisle. And we need flour from over there anyways.”

Beetlejuice nodded and followed behind Charles, bumping slightly into one of the teenage boys and he stepped backwards into Beetlejuice’s path. He grunted and maneuvered around him, still tailing Charles before he heard an acerbic call from behind him.

“Watch it, fag!”

Feeling his fists clench and claws dig into sensitive skin, drawing a drop of blood, Beetlejuice forced himself to keep walking. He was with Charles right now and beating this kid into a bloody pulp of bone marrow and inner organs wouldn’t be conducive to their ‘bonding time.’

He bumped into Charles back as he jerked to a stop.

“Chuck?”

Charles turned and stormed over to the teens, anger clouding his face. “What did you just say?”

The boys looked at each other and laughed. “Nothing, old man. Just saying hi to your fairy boyfriend over there.”

“ _He_ is a person, same as you and I will not tolerate that kind of language or bigotry. Now apologize,” he demanded in that same tone of voice he used all those months ago defending Lydia from him. It was a voice that was made of steel and threatened violence if he was disobeyed/

The kids were apparently too stupid to recognize that because they laughed again.

“Whatever, old man,” the second one said and tugged his friend away.

“Get out of here homos!” the first one called back as they scurried down the aisle. Charles made a move to go after them, face flush with anger, and Beetlejuice grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Charles tried to shrug him off but Beetlejuice held firm. “Let it go Chuck. I can get them back for you later, but I doubt you wanna get arrested.”

“It’s not about me! Didn’t you hear what they called you?”

“Yeah,” he said, not quite understanding the problem. It was all just words and he’d been called far worse by people whose opinions he cared more about.

“Aren’t you angry? It’s vile! People who think and say things like that make me sick. And they don’t even think about it! It’s nothing to them to go around hurting people like that. I should—”

Beetlejuice held firm on his arm as Charles tried to follow the boys again.

He laughed. “Don’t get angry on my account, but if it upsets you that much,” he said with a smile, raising a hand and snapping.

Cries of surprise and fear were heard from the next aisle as all the cans on the shelf suddenly and inexplicable fell on the two asshole teenagers.

“Did you—?”

“Don’t worry, Chuckie, they’re fine.”

“They could stand to be a little less fine,” he grumbled

Beetlejuice snickered as they heard pained whimpers from the other aisle and watched with disinterest and several workers were darting over to help.

“Mostly fine,” Beetlejuice allowed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Charles asked, tone losing most of his previous anger to concern. Beetlejuice didn’t know what to do with that emotion and so he rolled past it.

“‘Course I am. Now, c’mon, I was promised cookies.”

Charles sighed and, with a last glance behind them, followed Beetlejuice.

Back in the car, Beetlejuice's headache was beginning to subside under the lack of relentless light and overwhelming smells.

He truly wasn’t bothered by what happened in the store. He wasn’t the most confident of demons, but sexuality had never been a social stigma in the Netherworld like it was here. To be honest, Beetlejuice didn’t understand it. Breathers were so obsessed with it! About whether you were straight or not, what your gender was, and who you did or didn’t like. Whole religions banned it and countless breathers made it their only personality trait to dislike those in the opposing group.

It was confusing. Beetlejuice liked who he liked and found the whole thing unnecessarily complicated. Breathers had too many feelings in general, but especially about something so unimportant as who you boned and what junk you had.

“Charles?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“Why did what those breathers said bother you so much?”

“I… That’s a bigger question than I think you realize. May I ask you one first?”

“Go for it.”

“Why _didn’t_ it bother you?”

Beetlejuice watched the trees whip by, fast enough that his eyes couldn’t follow one before it was gone. Cars were a wonderful invention and he wanted to make a point to ride in them more. It was nothing like flying, which took actual work and focus.

“It’s just words Chuck. I don’t know them and I couldn’t give less of a shit about their opinions of me and my life.”

“Huh. I suppose that’s fair. Can I ask one more thing?”

“You just did.”

“Ha, ha,” Charles said without inflection. Beetlejuice was beginning to see where Lydia’s personality came from. Neither of them put up with anything they didn’t care for and they could both be shits when it suited them. “Aren’t you— I mean with the Maitlands— It just seemed like—?” He broke off with a sigh.

“There a question there?”

“Are you gay?” Charles said bluntly and seemed to immediately regret asking.

Beetlejuice smirked, amused. Breathers really were so concerned about this shit.

“Demons don’t really put labels on this sort of thing like you do, but if I had to say it in breather terms, then I guess I’d be bisexual. And non-binary.”

Charles glanced at him quickly before turning his eyes back to the road. “You’re non-binary? I didn’t realize. Did you want us to use different pronouns for you? Or is there anything about how we refer to you that we should change?”

“Nah,” Beetlejuice said. It was kind of sweet how concerned he was, even if Beetlejuice didn’t understand it. “The pronouns I use don’t exist in this language so he and him are fine. I don’t really care what gendered terms you use for me.”

"Ah, good to know. Thank you… for telling me.”

He snorted in bemusement. “Now my question. Why did you care?”

Charles sighed. “Lots of reasons. It’s wrong of them to say things like that. It could have hurt your feelings or made you or another LGBT person feel unsafe. I morally object to what they said and their 'opinions.' It’s a slur. Lots of reasons, but the main one is Lydia is bi too and I never want her to feel unsafe being who she is.”

“No shit?” Beetlejuice asked. He hadn’t thought much about it but it made sense. Lydia was too cool to be anything but queer.

“No shit,” Charles said and Beetlejuice noticed the small smile, but decided not to comment, fearing it would ruin the moment and soft peace they’d managed to find themselves in.

Long minutes later they puled into the driveway. Charles unbuckled and Beetlejuice looked at him thoughtfully.

“What is it?”

“You’re a good parent,” he said. He hadn’t met many good parents in his lifetimes, but Charles was, without a doubt, the best one he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“I—”

Beetlejuice didn’t hear what he had to say because he apparated himself to the roof. That was enough emotion for the day.

He laughed loud enough to scare the birds away when he heard Charles yell at him to come help bring in the groceries. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to do that.

And like this, slowly, softly, with care and compassion and so many growing pains, they all fell into a pattern, each day bringing something new and mirroring the previous ones at the same time. Everyone fell into a rhythm, getting re-used to everyone’s quirks and learning to play off the new dynamics that the additional inhabitant of the household brought with him. And, somehow, slowly, Beetlejuice and the rest of the Maitland-Deetz household fell into a comfortable pattern of living with one another.

The rules were followed, Beetlejuice was added to the chore chart and received numerous PowerPoints on everything from kitchen fires to consent to personal hygiene, and life carried on almost calmly.

That is, until that damn documentary of Lydia’s came along and fucked everything up that he’d been building for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued comments and support! They made me smile so much!! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter- now buckle up for a wild ride over the next few chapters! :)


	6. Mistakes are Made

The routine of everyday life continued without note for enough months that Beetlejuice thought it just might last forever. He’d gotten closer to every member of the Maitland-Deetz household and, with more consistent showering, he’d even grown almost used to the casual touches that everyone shared.

That wasn’t to say that sometimes it didn’t still send a thrill of pleasure through his spine that he didn’t quite know what to do with in situations like this. It was movie night and they were watching one of Lydia’s documentaries. This one was on old school demons, which she thought was hilarious and Beetlejuice enjoyed pointing out all of the many _many_ inaccuracies. Somewhere around the middle of the show Barbara had fallen asleep, which wouldn’t usually be a problem, but this time she was resting her head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder with Adam still awake and resting his head on her lap.

It was wonderful and stressful and cozy and panic-inducing all at once. He had the rock Delia had given him all those months ago in his hand and he was absent-mindedly rubbing it with his thumb. It had lost most of its spooky calm-you-down juice at this point, but whatever otherworldly shit made it go vroom combined with his overly sentimental attachment to the object still meant that it helped calmed him down.

He glanced at the pair resting on and near him. A year ago if you said he’d be in this situation he’d have laughed you out of the Netherworld and called the authorities on you to boot, but despite not having a single clue what to do with the casual affection he was being afforded, he was trying his best not to ruin it on account of being him.

Beetlejuice forced himself to pay attention to Lydia’s documentary, since he was sure she’d be talking about it nonstop for the next several days and it would be helpful to have at least a vague idea of what she was talking about.

To her credit, there had been quite a few choice bits in the documentary so far. Right now they were talking about wolves and their connection to werewolves, which, according to Dr. Whatshisface, were basically lower level demons.

“Is that true?” Lydia asked. She was laying sideways on an armchair next to the couch and was looking very cozy in her bat pajama pants. Pjs only on movie nights. It was the rules. Beetlejuice himself had forgone his traditional suit for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that had a picture of a sandworm on it.

Barbara said he looked cute in it the first time she saw him wearing the outfit and he made the completely unrelated decision to make it a habit to wear it more often. He still didn’t bother with sleeping through the night half the time, but when he did there was at least a 50% chance he’d be wearing the shirt.

He had, however, upgraded from sleeping in the guest room to sleeping at the end of Lydia’s bed when he felt the need to rest or when she seemed to be having a nightmare. He tried to push them away when he noticed and he was pretty sure she hadn’t caught on yet and it was easier to do that in her room. Beetlejuice still kept some of his shit in the bonus room, but the bed remained largely untouched.

“I mean no, but also yes,” he responded.

She glared at him just long enough to make her displeasure known before turning back to the show, which was now on commercial. “Thank you for that completely helpful and enlightening tidbit of knowledge, Beej. Truly, your ability to teach is unparalleled.”

“Brat.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “But, ugh, _fine_ ,” he groaned. “Like werewolves aren’t a thing, yeah?”

“They aren’t? That’s a bummer,” Adam piped up, sounding half-asleep. To his credit, it was far past his and Barbara’s usual bedtime.

“I know right?” Beetlejuice said.

“Maybe there are and you just don’t know about them,” Lydia said.

Beetlejuice scowled in faux annoyance. “No. _Shh_. Be quiet. I’m trying to teach you a thing.”

“Rude,” Lydia said to Adam.

“Right?”

“ _Any_ ways. Werewolves? Not a thing, unfortunately for everyone's kinky bedtime fantasies. Shut Adam, I know you’re not as vanilla as you let on. But there _are_ demons that have wolves as their animals. Like my buddy Arlund. Well, I say buddy… Anyways he’s a wolf. Sorta. He’s a wolf in the same way I’m a snake, at least.”

“You’re not really a snake at all though,” Adam said.

Lydia tilted her head back from where it was hanging off the arm of the chair. “You have demon buddies?”

“Uhhh,” he said eloquently. “Kind of? Demons don’t really do the _friend_ thing with other demons, but we don’t kill each other on sight and that’s pretty much as good as it gets.”

“That’s sad,” Adam said.

Was it? It didn’t seem sad. It just was what it was and he didn’t see the sense in getting all broken up about it. Besides, Arlund was pretty decent for a demon.

He was unranked so he was constantly trying to get Beetlejuice to submit to his ‘prowess’ and ‘alpha nature,’ like that was even a thing among wolves and they both knew it. But Beetlejuice was happy enough to play along when things turned more intimate. He loved a good bondage scene, not that Arlund was any good at it or respectful of him in any way, but he often allowed Beetlejuice to spend the night afterwards. It was a nice perk that made the rest of it worth it most of the time and it’s not like there were a lot of other people lining up to get in bed with him, despite how he played himself up to the Maitlands.

In fact, he was almost sure that one of his suspender buckles was rusted shut with how infrequently he took his clothes off or changed them. He tended to banish his clothes away instead of taking them off the normal way.

Lydia shushed them as the show came back on, effectively breaking his train of thought. It wasn’t a fun train anyways. There weren’t even snacks on it.

The boring werewolf man finished his bit and a boring lady with brilliant white hair came onto screen, announcing herself an expert on ancient religions, specializing in demons. 

She started talking about demons and how they were still angels deep down, just with their motivations damaged. There was a huge long segment on angels and their supposed history as pictures of wheeled beings with countless eyes and three headed creatures appeared on the screen. It was mildly interesting. Largely bullshit, but so was most of breather religion as far as he could tell.

Another commercial started and Lydia turned back to him with an intense expression.

“Hey Beej?”

“Hey Lyds?”

“Is God real?” she asked. 

“The fuck?” Beetlejuice sputtered. Even Adam looked thrown by the non sequitur.

“I mean, you’re a demon and they were talking about angels. So I was just wondering: Is God real?”

“Can’t you ask me fun, easy questions? Like how good is Edgar Allen Poe at sex? The answer is not very, but he makes up for it by making excellent cocktails. Like, there was one time at James O’Brian’s sixtieth death day party—”

“Beej,” she cut in, almost whining. “Please?”

He couldn’t deny her anything and was happy to answer just about any questions she had, but this one was a touchy subject among all dead folk. Demons, ghosts, spirits. It didn’t matter who. No one liked talking about God.

Beetlejuice groaned. “Fine, _fine_. Is God real? That’s your question?” He was beginning to hate this documentary. How long were these commercials anyways? Why couldn’t the show come back on and save him from this hell?

He wasn’t even sure how to begin to describe the rabbit whole that was the God issue. “God is real in the same way unicorns are real,” he finally said.

“What does that even mean?” Lydia asked.

Adam squinted his eyes in confusion. “So He’s not real then?”

Beetlejuice shrugged the shoulder that Barbara wasn’t resting on. “I dunno. Are they?”

“No?” Adam guessed, sounding less sure by the moment.

“Is that your answer then? _Maybe_ God exists?” Lydia looked unimpressed.

“Sorta. I mean, no one _really_ knows if unicorns existed. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. Lots of people used to _believe_ they did and lots of people even used to claim they saw one. But no one’s seen them in living memory. So does that mean they _never_ existed? Does it mean they don’t exist _anymore_?”

They both looked at him thoughtful as the TV loudly advertised some car insurance.

Lydia was the first to speak up. “So basically no one knows and anyone who would know is dead?”

“Bingo,” Beetlejuice said.

“But also history, if you believe it that, say _yes_ they are real. But since unicorns haven’t been seen in centuries, we can’t really trust what history says. Or maybe we can, but we’ll never know for sure,” Adam said.

“You’re oh-for-two.”

Lydia and Adam both frowned. “I don’t think I like that answer,” Lydia said. 

“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Beetlejuice replied. It was the truth and that was rarely more pleasant than a comforting lie.

“I dunno. A yes or no I guess.”

“It’s a good metaphor, though,” Adam said.

“Thanks, A-dog.”

“How about Heaven? And angels?” Lydia asked.

Beetlejuice took a deep breath in an attempt to refrain from snarling. He wasn’t going to touch the angel thing with a ten foot pole, but it wasn’t Lydia’s fault she was trodding all over sensitive subjects. “Let’s just say there ain’t a single person who’s died who ended up anywhere other than the Netherworld.”

“Makes sense,” Adam said. “But I admit I was hoping for some kind of paradise after death.”

“Paradise is overrated.” Lydia replied, but quieted down as the documentary came back on. Thank God or Satan or somebody for small miracles.

The white hair lady came back on screen and, fortunately, moved on from asshole holy as fuck angelic bitches to demons again, who were _far_ more interesting in his unbiased opinion. He began to zone out as she droned on, letting her words wash over him and pictures of old statues and paintings flashed across the screen. Adam seemed to be close to dozing off again himself.

But then he heard the word ‘Betelgoose’ and immediately perked back up, ears flicking forward and pushing some of Barbara’s hair out of place with their movement.

“Wait,” Lydia said, pushing herself up into a sitting position that wouldn’t give her premature back pain. “Did they just say your name?”

“Yes, shut up,” he said, leaning forward and looking at the TV with an intense expression.

“They said it wrong,” Adam said, much less drowsy sounding than he had a few moments ago.

He shushed Adam as the lady continued. His name was mentioned as part of some ancient grimoire called the _Ars Goetia_ , which she claimed contained a massive list of all known demons with instructions on how to summon them.

The lady on screen was dismissive of it, saying that it seemed to be a replica or snake oil created by a seedy salesman or profiteer or clergyman who preyed on people’s fears. He knew that book though. He _knew_ it.

Beetlejuice remembered that book intimately because he was _there_. He was there when it was written. Or at least part of it. That was the decade from hell and he knew a thing or two about hell.

It was a scroll then, of course, but the pictures of it they flashed across the screen were unmistakable and the writing was the same as he’d known hundreds of years ago.

King Shlomoh, the good king of Israel, who took it upon himself to create a massive knowledge base of all demons and how to both summon and banish them. He performed extensive experiments on what could hurt a demon, what would discorporate them, and what would simply kill them.

No one knew how he got a hold of that first president of hell, Ose, but the little rat gave them all away, spilling the names of every known ranked demon and a few that weren’t, telling the king their _true_ names, the ones that would summon them properly and bind them to the mortal plane. Not just a little Ouija board fun time, but a proper demon circle summoning.

It was common practice in the Netherworld to call other demons by a name ever so slightly different that their true name. Betelgeuse became Betelgoose. Voso became Ose. Aamon became Alrund. You get the picture. Humans, fortunately for him, usually had no fucking clue how to pronounce his name when it was spelled out correctly, but that didn’t mean that the instructions on how to do it weren’t written down in that TV lady’s book.

Every demon was listed in that book along with their true name, instructions on how to summon a demon of their ranking, and what they had dominion over. Each of them were summoned in turn, interrogated for every last morsel of knowledge they had, but it was never enough to satisfy the glutton that called himself a man of God. Most, like Beetlejuice, were banished unharmed afterwards, but enough were doused in holy water, destroying their very essence, that word got around. 

Very few demons dared go in the Upperworld that century. And Beetlejuice, barely a child at that time, ran back to Juno and his house and didn’t dare leave until Juno began forcing him to go on his guides a few decades later. The tension he felt in the Upperworld eventually faded as the knowledge of how to summon demons passed into disuse and then disbelief. 

He’d foolishly thought that every last copy of that damn book had been destroyed, but, turns out, even a thousand years isn’t enough time to destroy some bits of knowledge. It was likely in part Ose’s doing, since he had dominion over divine answers and secrets revealed. No one had seen him since the book and most assumed he was dead by now, killed by the good king after his siege on demonkind, but Beetlejuice cursed him anyways and hoped it hurt like a son of a bitch anyways, regardless of his current state of existence.

It didn’t really matter in the end whether or not Ose was dead or not because Beetlejuice _had_ to get that book. There was no other choice. The information in it could lead to any demon being summoned with the summoner having explicit and clear directions on how to kill them. More importantly, though, that book contained information on _him_. 

Any fucker out there could get a hold of it and, if they had an ounce of common sense, they could decode it and summon him. He’d be forced into a Contract as soon as he was in the devil’s trap, unable to escape, since they’d have his sigil. He could escape most circles for lower level demons, but the sigil was key. No one could escape a circle with their true name. In essence, Beetlejuice was fucked if certain parties discovered the _Ars Goetia_ still existed.

This was a living nightmare.

“—juice. Beetlejuice!”

He jolted out of his thoughts to see three pairs of concerned eyes staring at him. “...yeah?”

“You good, Beej?” Lydia asked.

He stood and stretched his arms up, feeling his back pop. “Yeah, ‘course I am, Scarecrow. Just kinda tired. I’m gonna hit the sack. See you guys tomorrow.”

With an overly dramatic wink, he teleported himself upstairs to his room. 

Fuck. _Fuck_. He had to get that book, even if it killed him, because it had the potential to end him either way.

Getting the book was both more challenging and far easier than he thought it’d be. He had to pry the name of the TV lady out of Lydia, which was only made difficult because of his active desire to not explain _why_ he wanted it. He wrangled it out of her eventually since she had better things to do than draw their conversation out and it was all cream and no curdles from there.

Names had power and that went for humans as well, even if they did go and throw them around like it didn’t matter at all. And, really, they had enough fairy folklore at this point to know better. But this time it all worked out to his advantage. Names were like leashes when you had the right one and once Beetlejuice had hers it was a simple matter of apparating to where she was. 

He appeared in her home, which was more than a bit inconvenient, but he hadn’t thought about normal breather sleeping habits when he decided the witching hour was a good time to do a hijacking. In a way that wasn’t creepy at all, he waited around until she got up that next morning and went to work. He cursed himself for not making Lydia tell him that tidbit as well, but it was too late at that point and he had little better to do at night than wait. He really had to get a phone of his own at some point so he could look this shit up himself.

Beetlejuice lounged in her backseat as she drove to some side building of a decrepit-looking building. It served her right, he thought nastily, for flaunting the _Ars Goetia_ around for anyone to see. He hoped the museum collapsed while she was inside it and wouldn’t help her pass over if it happened.

Beetlejuice made a mental note to harass the shit out of her after she died.

As soon as they passed through the border to the museum and its offices, he felt a familiar tingle race up his spine as he sat ramrod straight. Flicking his tongue out, he could taste the malicious holiness of the damned book. It was _so close._

Beetlejuice followed the old woman through a maze of doors and coworker interactions, breaking off only when she headed in the opposite direction of his goal.

He huffed when he found the book in the middle of some shabby ass library with dim lighting, not even protected behind glass or anything. It was just _sitting there_. Even a halfway motivated breather could have gotten a hold of it with minimal effort if they really wanted to.

Gingerly pulling the book from the shelf, he marveled at how easy it was to get a hold of something so powerful and how anticlimactic the whole thing was. It was just him alone in a library, taking a book out like he was a patron of the damn place.

With a ginger touch, he opened the book, blinking as his eyes stung and watered at the faint holiness radiating off the book. It wasn’t as potent as it was when it was written, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable to hold or look at it for too long. The bitter irony of a book about demons being too holy for demons to touch was not lost upon him. Fuck that king and his whole lineage to hell and back.

Whatever. He was done with this shit and he missed the familiarity of home. He took a step forward, landing on the roof of the house. Beetlejuice floated down to his room and threw the book onto his bed, looking at it with a clouded face, sure that his hair was bright orange and betraying his intense anxiety. 

What the fuck was he supposed to _do_ with it now that he had it? His pocket dimension was right out— he wasn’t sure how the whole thing worked but demonic spaces and holy books couldn’t be a good combination. The last time he stored something holy in there, a small container of holy water, an hour hadn’t passed before he was puking his guts up. Literally.

On the other hand, he couldn’t just _leave_ it here. He hadn’t made the time to ward the house against other demons yet, so anyone could sneak in and get it if they wanted to. And he was sure someone would come for it; the book’s radiating energy was extremely traceable and while he was the only demon he knew of that spent any time on the surface, it couldn’t be too long before someone noticed.

The _Ars Geotia_ sat there, mocking him, as he wracked his brain for a solution. 

Then again, on the other _other_ hand, it had made it this long without being noticed. Maybe it would be safe enough to leave here until he came up with something to do with it?

He sighed, deep and heavy with foreboding. He couldn’t even destroy the thing. The only reason it had made it this long was its lingering holiness making it immune to almost any natural forces that could damage its brittle paper. Even hellfire might only singe it.

Beetlejuice huffed. Might as well try.

He inhaled, feeling the familiar licking flames pool in his chest. He breathed out, smoke in his breath and fire crackling in his eyes.

Dinner was a quieter affair than normal, Lydia feeling snapper than usual after an English paper that didn’t go her way. Apparently writing about the “overwhelming homosexual overtones of _The Great Gatsby”_ wasn’t an appropriate topic for a school paper on thematic elements. He didn’t understand most of what Lydia was talking about, but he supported her acerbic cry of _stick it to the man!_

No one knew what else to say about that so Charles brought up to Adam some of the houses he’d toured today. Apparently gothic arches were in now.

That left him, Delia, and Barbara to themselves as Lydia continued to sulk and the boys were off in their own world.

He picked at the side salad with disinterest. Barbara had cooked tonight and the meal itself was delicious, but leaves just weren’t his jam.

“Beej?” Barbara asked.

“Hmm?” He looked up at her and Delia, who were both staring at him.

“Why’s your suit singed?” she asked. She was being awfully generous, he thought, looking down at his suit. The arms were practically burned to a crisp from his earlier misadventures. Beetlejuice didn’t have time to try and fix it before dinner but that was first on his to-do list after everyone else went to bed for the night.

The suit was almost entirely held together by magic and will-power at this point. It was old, practically ancient by Lydia’s standard, so he was sure it was going to prove an even more difficult task to fix the damned thing that stealing the book was in the first place.

He’d collected a somewhat sizable collection of clothing that _wasn’t_ his suit at this point, courtesy of Delia’s never-ending attempts to stop him from wearing it so maybe he could retire the suit for a week or so while he mended the burn-marks. Hellfire didn’t come out easy.

“Never try and smoke pot while riding on a rollercoaster,” he replied seriously.

“When...” Delia started. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.” She leaned in and whispered in Beetlejuice’s ear. “But if you ever want to share some of your mary jane, just let me know.”

Delia leaned back and winked as Beetlejuice laughed. He knew he liked this woman for a reason. “Sure thing, Debby-bear.”

“Sure thing what?” Barbara asked. She narrowed her eyes at Delia. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” Delia and Beetlejuice said at the same time as Barbara looked at them suspiciously.

“Don’t worry about it, Babs,” he said. She only harrumphed in response, not mollified in the least. Her look promised more prodding later— the woman didn’t like to be left out of secrets, something he could appreciate.

He grinned at her, genuine happiness lighting up his face, and he, for the first time that day, forgot about the time bomb waiting for him upstairs.

Beetlejuice was watching Lydia playing the new Spider-Man video game in her room, throwing popcorn at her and booing every time she almost died, much to her intense annoyance, when he suddenly groaned, upending the entire bag of popcorn into his mouth.

She gave him a side-eye glare, not really caring about whatever the issue of the hour was. She was on a time limit here and she’d already been killed a good dozen times and was more than a little aggravated at this point.

Damn it!

She tossed the controller on the floor, more gently than she wanted to, but she still had enough sense not to break it in a fit of anger.

“What’s your problem?” Beetlejuice asked, hand halfway shoved into his mouth as he picked out popcorn kernels. Gross.

This game was driving her to the edge Beetlejuice was _not_ helping. First the school thing, then the video game, and Beetlejuice was just _sitting there_. She had enough sense to realize he wasn’t doing anything out of the norm, but every single thing he was doing was driving her further and further up the wall.

Lydia shoved her head into a pillow and screamed. 

“Is this still about the gay Garsby thing from earlier?”

She groaned again because, seriously, fuck everything right now.

“Lyds?”

“ _What_?” she snapped.

Beetlejuice hummed. “Well, you’re in a mood and I have a guide so I’m just gonna peace out and see you later.” He waited for a goodbye that she was in no mood to give him before disappearing to harass whatever poor idiot had the misfortune to die today.

Lydia wasn’t sure how long she sat there moping, but it was long enough that the TV had turned itself off and she was beginning to feel a few stirrings of guilt at how she snapped at Beetlejuice. It wasn’t his fault she was in a pissy mood. She sighed. Just another shit thing on top of a shit day.

She breathed in deeply, enjoying the relative silence of her room. She could hear Sandy’s light humming and the lingering static of the TV, but the white noise was soothing in a way.

Suddenly her eyes widened and she sat up. Beetlejuice was gone, which meant he _wasn’t_ here, which meant his room was unguarded and she could finally steal her spider-web poncho back from him. Lydia was on her feet and racing out of her room in an instant. 

She flung his door open and scanned the room. It was a lot cleaner than she was expected. There weren’t piles of clothes everywhere or empty cans or garbage scattered around. In fact, she’d have thought the room wasn’t lived in if it wasn’t for the small folded pile of clothes sitting next to the closet door and the book sitting on his bed. The book gave her a moment of pause since Beetlejuice wasn’t exactly known for his literacy. Lydia knew he wasn’t illiterate, per se, but his reading skills still didn’t amount to much beyond _See Spot Run_.

That wasn’t her mission right now though. Sometimes guides lasted all of five minutes and other times he wouldn’t be back until the next day. There was no telling how long this one would last, so she had to be quick about it.

Her first thought was the pile of clothes sitting a few feet away, but they turned out to be a few t-shirts Delia had purchased for him a few weeks ago. Beetlejuice was beginning to gather a healthy collection of clothes by now, but he often still opted for his suit most of the time. Every now and then he’d come down in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, drawing everyone’s eye, especially the Maitlands. She’d seen more than one blush on their faces (and who knew ghosts could blush?) that she chose to shove deep down.

Very deep.

The relationship status and crushes of her ghost parents and brother-uncle-thing could remain forever secret in her opinion.

Lydia opened the closet and ruffled through the few items hanging there. She had a hard time believing Beetlejuice chose to hang up his clothes— he seemed to take a certain delight in appearing ruffled. Maybe Delia did it for him? She’d sometimes put up Lydia’s clothes for her, despite her insistence that she can do her own laundry. Delia would only shrug and say it just made sense to do everyone’s at one time.

There was a dresser on the far side of the room that Lydia went through next, opening each drawer only to find it as empty as it was when they first bought it. The bottom drawer had a small spider web in it, but Lydia was 80% sure that Beej didn’t know about the spider because if he did he either would have a) told her all about his new “friend,” b) used it to scare one of them or c) eaten it. And since none of those had happened it was likely Beetlejuice was in for a treat one day soon when he finally decided to start using the storage in his room.

She gingerly closed the drawer, trying not to disturb the spider from where it was hard at working adding onto its web. Lydia made a mental note to come back later with her camera to take a picture of it.

Ducking her head under the bed, she found a small hoard of objects that was out of place in the otherwise spotless room. There were papers filled with writing in a language she didn’t recognize, several stones she knew came from Delia’s collection, a box of chalk, the dick-shaped stick from their first outing together all those months ago, and a lot of what looked like general crap. No spider-web poncho, though.

Lydia scowled and leaned against the bed, trying to think of where else he could have hidden the damn thing. Unless… well shit. Beetlejuice had a tendency to store everything he wanted or needed or had ever summoned in that pocket dimension of his. He still refused to explain how it worked to her, but she had gotten a fairly interesting lecture on how to use a toothpick as a lockpick when she’d asked.

She flopped back onto the bed, expecting the freshly-laundered smell of it at this point. Lydia was beginning to think Beetlejuice didn’t use this room at all. She frowned. All this time here and he _still_ was acting like he didn’t live here. Barbara had mentioned that on nights she and Adam didn’t sleep they’d often find Beej out smoking or hanging out on the roof, but, for whatever reason, Lydia had thought that was an occasional thing that just happened to coincide with the nights the Maitlands didn’t sleep.

Barbara had a wistful look in her eyes when she told her that, saying that Beetlejuice would often come back inside when they caught him and they’d spend the nights doing whatever it is they do when they’re alone. Lydia tried not to think about Adam’s blush when Barbara was talking about. Whatever her ghost parents and her weird brother-uncle-thing got up to when no one was looking was just fine with her so long as she never had to hear about it.

They both sputtered and denied everything when Lydia gave them a snarky congrats, but she knew better. They were all getting some.

Beetlejuice just leered at her when she brought it up. She’d pretended to puke and they never spoke about it again.

Lydia stretched her arms out where she was still laying in the bed and felt her hand knock against something hard. She tilted her head back and remembered the book she’d seen sitting on the bed when she walked in.

She reached a hand back and grabbed it, flipping through the pages. It looked _old_ . Like old old, not just her dad’s age kind of old. The pages were yellowed and had an odd texture that reminded her of papyrus paper. Trailing her fingers across the page, she marveled at it. This thing was so _cool_. Beetlejuice must have been out somewhere and grabbed it for her to look at, knowing how much she loved old creepy things like this and books were near the top of her list.

The writing in it was like none she’d seen before. The letters were connected, like they were in cursive languages, and were blocky with some of them having a duo or trio of dots hovering above or below the words. She flipped through the pages and noticed some of them had elaborate drawings next to circular symbols that reminded her of the devil’s traps she’d seen in movies and books. 

One of the pictures was of an owl-like creature wearing a crown of roses and sitting on top of a book. Another was of what looked like a maggot-infested person with a bulging head and elongated nails. Its eyes creeped her out and she flipped to the next page. There was an ouroboros, the snake eating itself. She traced its outline with her finger, noting that this one was striped instead of covered in diamond-shaped like most pictures of the ouroboros she’d seen. 

Beetlejuice had mentioned a while back that _he_ was the ouroboros, since it was meant to represent the connection of life and death and infinity, and he _was_ the transition between life and death. She privately thought he was full of shit, but she had to admit the snake looked a little like a bandy-bandy. It was still a cool symbol, regardless.

There was a circle next to the drawing of the snake with text she couldn’t read. It definitely _looked_ like a demon summoning circle. Quickly flipping through the pages she saw it was one of dozens in the book. Was this some instruction manual on how to summon demons?

It would make sense. There were dozens of pictures of creatures that could hardly be anything else, unless this was some old-timey horror novel. Lydia turned back to near the beginning of the book where there was a spread of what looked like a grid, each containing a singular symbol with writing underneath each one. She flipped back to the picture of the snake, noticing one of the symbols in the summoning circle also appeared in the grid. Maybe that was the name of the demon in the image?

There were four other large symbols in the circle, each located in between one of the central star’s points. She examined the symbols and checked to see if they were also in the grid of names, but no such luck.

Giving up on deciphering that for now, she paged through the rest of the book and started noticing a pattern. There were eight major symbols, aside from the names. Ignoring the huge block of text at the beginning of the book, it looked like the demons were divided into eight chapters, each named by the symbol and picturing a devil’s trap. Within the chapter there’d be a picture of the demon and some text with it.

Lydia was completely enraptured. This was the coolest fucking thing. Maybe Beetlejuice would translate some of it when he got back home? But then it clicked. She might not have to wait for the ghost with the most to decipher all this for her, which she figured he’d find boring anyways. Lydia pulled up her phone and opened up the translation app that she used for her French homework. Hovering the phone over the screen, the camera picked up on some of the text and a loading circle popped up.

Lydia stared at it for a long moment. Maybe whatever language this was, it was just too old for even google to know, but it was worth a shot either way. Eventually the app said it was done and, while the translation was broken and made little to no sense in some parts, there were decent enough chunks of it that worked. _Hell yeah_. She was in business now.

Most of the names on the page with the grid didn’t translate, but the chapter titles did: King, Duke, Prince, Marquise, Earl, Knight, President, and Lesser Demons. Lydia stared at the screen stumped. Was this some government textbook or political charter?

Except, wait, Beetlejuice mentioned earlier that he was a prince of hell. She thought he was blowing smoke up everyone’s asses like normal, but maybe he was a _literal_ prince of hell, as in ranked a prince instead of being the son of a king. 

The order of the titles didn’t make much sense, however. Shouldn’t the prince come just under the king? The earl and marquis being under the duke made sense, as did the knight being under the earl. That all sounded pretty similar to what she’d learned about the feudal system rankings in class, but president was a weird title in general. Maybe it was an old way of saying baron because there was no way in hell _demons_ elected a governing official.

Or maybe the chapter order didn’t indicate a ranking at all. There was no way to know until Beetlejuice got back because most of the larger chunks of text turned into gibberish, including the one under the ouroboros, which was unfortunate. She was most excited to learn what that one had to say.

She fingered through the pages until she came across one that looked like a deformed wolf. Its hind legs took the form of a snake and its mouth could almost be called a beak were it not for the fangs. The creature’s front legs were too long for its body, the elbows sticking up high above the body with fingers supporting its bulbous top-heavy body that were capped in massive claws. Maybe this was the Arlund that Beetlejuice mentioned while watching the documentary? 

Lydia clasped her hands together as a wonderful idea struck her. Maybe she could summon Arlund to visit! Beetlejuice loved hanging out with her and the rest of their family, she was certain of that, but he was also over a thousand years old. Surely he had other friends during that time? People he missed while he was in the Upperworld with them? It’s not like he was able to go to the Netherworld at the moment, but maybe she could bring a piece of it up here _for_ him. Not the evil, murdery pieces of it, of course, but Beej had seemed almost _fond_ when he brought him up.

She snapped the book shut and shoved it under her shirt when she heard the familiar gentle pop that indicated Beetlejuice had just apparated back. Sure enough, his door creaked open and in walked a confused looking face.

“Scarecrow?” he asked. “Scarecrow, scarecrow,” he continued, finishing the triad. For whatever reason he had a tendency to repeat things, especially names, three times in a row. She had the vague thought that it had something to do with his curse, but she never pursued it, not wanting to call attention to the verbal tic if it was something he was embarrassed about.

Still, shit. _Shit_. Why’d she have to get caught red handed in his room like some crappy cat burglar? “Hey, Beej,” she replied, telling herself to play it cool. Cool like ice, cool like that one senior with the mohawk. “What’s up?”

He stepped fully inside and looked around, but there was nothing out of place that he could see. “Just got back from Hong-Kong.”

“Oh?” she asked, standing up and beginning to make her exit as subtly as she could. “How was that?”

“Blech,” he gagged. “Too much smog. It stank like breather city.”

“I thought you liked bad smelling things? I mean, you _hate_ the smell of soap.”

“Nah, I just don’t like chemical smells and nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , smells more like chemicals than smog, especially in the city.”

That did sound disgusting, and not the good kind, now that she thought about it and while normally she’d be taking the opportunity to pry as many details out of him as she could, right now she was holding stolen cargo. She needed to escape the scene of the crime before he noticed the weird bulge from under her shirt where the book was sitting and jabbing its sharp corners into her stomach. It was probably going to bruise.

She hummed. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Why were you in here anyways? Are you still mad at me?” He paused and gasped. “Did I catch you setting up a prank?” Beetlejuice threw a hand to his brow and began dramatically, “My own BFFFF! Betraying me! My cold unbeaten heart will never recover.

Lydia tried stifling a laugh, but didn’t have much success. “You caught me! Drat, now I’ll just have to get you later.”

Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out at her. “Better luck next time, Babes.”

“I don’t need your luck you foul creature! I’ll get you back by my own skill and genius!” she teased, easing further towards the door.

He still looked tired, but his eyes were brighter than he was when he arrived. Good. They both needed some cheering up and Beetlejuice had already helped her without even knowing it.

Lydia pulled out her phone and looked at the clock. It read 1:53am. Well, crap. She’d spent way longer in here than she thought. At least it was a Friday. The yawn she let out wasn’t even exaggerated as she finally reached the door.

“I’m heading to bed, Beej, now that you’ve foiled my nefarious plot. But I wasn’t mad at you earlier. I was just mad in general, but I’m better now.”

“Oh,” he said, perking up. His hair turned a more vibrant shade of green that he didn’t seem to be aware of. Most hair color changes had him pawing and pulling at it in frustration, but the more subtle ones seemed to pass by unnoticed. “Good. Not that I was worried or anything, but I’m glad you're not mad.” He paused and seemed to think for a moment. “Pretend that sounded way less needy and about 110% more cool.”

“No can do. Your cringy feelings are already locked forever into my brain, never to be forgotten.”

“Fuck! Why you gotta do me like that? I know you could forget if you tried hard enough.”

“Nope! It’s like Area 51 in here. Nothing ever escapes once it’s inside.”

“We should go to Area 51,” Beetlejuice said.

“That would be so cool. Are there actual aliens in there, do you think?”

He shrugged. “Probably. Who knows what they’re hiding?”

“You’re so right,” Lydia agreed. “Anyways, I’m heading to bed. Night Beej.”

“Night,” he called back as Lydia made her escape. She shoved the book under the far side of her mattress, praying that tonight wouldn’t be one of the nights Beetlejuice showed up to sleep at the foot of her bed. He’d listen if she kicked him out, but she didn’t want to see that sad puppy-dog look on him if she did.

After finishing getting ready for bed it was close to 2:30 in the morning and Lydia finally crawled in bed. Minutes passed and when Beetlejuice didn’t appear, Lydia allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Her secret was safe until morning (well, _later_ in the morning) when she’d get to work setting up her play-date for her BFFFF.

It’s late when Beetlejuice gets back from his guide, a car crash. The two kids didn’t make it and the dad, the drunk fucking bastard, just sat their crying while the kids tried their damndest to get Beej to let them stay with him. Yeah, fuck that noise. They were going to the Netherworld even if it killed him.

And they did. Eventually.

But if it wasn’t a battle and a half to get them to gross over then he was a sunshiny breather who liked showers and being nice to people.

Maybe that was the reason he didn’t register the missing book when he finally made it back home. Maybe he was distracted from the guide. Maybe it was just late and he was emotionally drained. Maybe it was the joint he’d smoked on the roof before he went back to his room. Maybe it was the conversation with Lydia. Maybe it was none of that and just an unfortunate slip of the mind.

But, point is, Beetlejuice went to bed that night without once thinking about that cursed book or noticing its absence.

Beetlejuice’s plans for the day were thrown for a loop when he tried to get into Lydia’s room for their regular Saturday hang-out sesh only to be refused entry with only vague hints about a surprise. She _claimed_ it was for him and he was going to love it, but he had his doubts. Surprises were rarely a good thing in his experience, especially when they showed up mid-sex or in the middle of a drug binge.

However, he reminded himself, this was neither and Lydia wouldn’t do anything to purposefully hurt him. He _did_ mentally prepare himself to be the victim of the prank of a lifetime, but that was just common sense.

Delia was in the living room watching _Say Yes to the Dress_ with Charles, who kept walking in and out of the room, pretending not to be interested, but still offering up commentary and incredulous opinions. He was right though- that blue dress was wildly inappropriate for their traditional wedding.

Beetlejuice decided to leave them to it. It wasn’t date night, which had occurred religiously every Tuesday since his arrival, but they didn’t get a lot of one-on-one time and he could bully Lydia into pulling the show up for him on Netflix later. The Maitlands were a more fun couple to hang out with anyways.

He floated up into the attic, the most common location to find them haunting during the day. The knocking rule wasn’t as strictly enforced for the attic as it was for their bedrooms and he took full advantage of that as he appeared in the space without a word.

Adam was conspicuously absent but Barbara was there, messing with some pots at the window.

“Babs, Babs, Babs!” he greeted, prompting a surprised yelp from Barbara as she jumped, dropping some small black items onto the floor. 

She turned to face him, putting a hand to her heart. “You gave me a heart attack,” she scolded without malice. “Come help me pick these up.”

She gestured to the small little black things she dropped and Beetlejuice went over to help. He picked one up, examining it. It was oddly shaped and harder than he expected. 

“What the heck are these?” he asked, licking one he’d picked up. It didn’t taste like anything, but Barbara quickly snatched it from him anyways.

“Is that all of them?” Barbara asked.

“Think so.”

She hummed, placing their small pile into a packet she had and held it out to him. There was a picture of an onion on the front of it, which explained exactly nothing. The look he gave her must have communicated what he was thinking because she took the packet back with a gentle laugh. It could have easily been mocking coming from someone else, but the thought never even occurred to Beetlejuice that it was anything of the sort.

“They’re onion seeds,” she said, pouring a few into her hand and showing him.

“Oh,” he replied, feeling slightly stupid. It made sense, but it had been a long time since he’d been involved in any sort of agricultural work and back then seeds weren’t kept in neat little packets with pictures. They were largely kept underground in boxes or burlap bags.

Time changed everything in ways you don’t expect. It wasn’t an uncomfortable thought, but it was a repeated one that he was reminded of almost every time he made his way topside for an extended period of time.

Old ways of thinking faded and changed. New towns were made and old ones turned to dust. Fields were razed and sewn, forgotten and turned into forests once more only to be razed once more. Nomads settled, animals were tamed, religions died, the occult was forgotten to science, and seeds came in packets now.

He grinned a toothy smile. Breathers, for as short as their lives were, like the passing smell of dead leaves in the wind, managed to change so much in so little time. He could go down to the Netherworld for a brief decade and come back up to find the Upperworld unrecognizable. It was one of the reasons he was continuously drawn here, much to the frustration of his mother and mocking of his fellow demons.

Beetlejuice wouldn’t go so far as to say he was _in love_ with breathers, like how the angels in their invented TV shows would fall in love with humanity, but they impressed him in odd ways at odd times. Like now.

Even if a holy blade was held to his throat right now and he was told to explain _why_ , he wasn’t sure he could. It was ineffable.

He shook his head at Barbara’s confused look. His face must have done some weird shit while he was thinking, but some thoughts were only meant to be experienced, not spoken out loud. And he didn’t think Babs and Sexy had been dead long enough to really understand how quickly everything could change around them in the blink of an eye while they remained almost the same.

“So,” Beetlejuice started with a voice more gravelly than usual. He cleared his throat. “So, what’re you doing with all that?” he asked, nodding to the hoard of pots, dirt, and seed packets she’d piled on and near the windowsill.

Barbara wiped some of the dirt on her hands onto her dress. Her smile was bright. “I’m planting some herbs and other smaller vegetable plants, like the onions and maybe some scallions and carrots.” 

She gestured him over to look at the pots she’d already planted. There were a good dozen or so, all lined up in a row. “It’ll take a while before they’re ready to harvest but I’m excited! I know Adam and I can’t eat anymore but at least Delia can use them when she cooks and it’s just nice to grow something, you know? Bring new life into the world.”

He nodded, not understanding the desire, but appreciating her enthusiasm nonetheless. It was a common desire for Newly Deads and a harmless enough one. Most got over it within a century or two.

It didn’t change the happiness he felt seeing her so excited about her plants. He looked down at the pots. Well, they weren’t plants yet, just domesticated dirt hiding the potential of plants, but the sentiment was still there. If anyone could manage to grow a garden in an attic it would be Barbara.

He still sent a minor blessing their way, encouraging their growth. Demons didn’t _do_ blessings and whether or not it actually was one could be debated since the encouragement he sent over was a snarled threat that _they better grow or face his fiery wrath_ , but the end result was the same. It was all semantics anyways.

Unfortunately, when he pulled his head away from the dirt piles, Barbara’s smile had dimmed slightly.

His brows furrowed. What the fuck had changed her mood so quickly? She was all bubbly and shit not ten seconds ago.

“Babs?”

She jolted out of her thoughts. “Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking. Did you say something?”

“Nah,” he said. “You good?”

Barbara looked like she was going to deny anything was wrong, but instead she leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Yeah. It’s just… Well, it’s nothing serious anyways. Not even a big deal in the grand scheme of things and I’m sure you’ve heard much worse.”

“I mean, probably.” Barbara looked up at him with a betrayed expression. “Wait, that’s not what I meant!” he rushed to say, tripping over his words. “I just meant there’s always something worse out there, but that doesn’t make your bad thing unimportant. I mean, not that it’s a bad thing. Or maybe it is and I don’t— I just—” he broke his sputtering of with a frustrating hiss of breath. Satan, he was a fucking expert in saying the wrong thing at the exact wrong time.

Still, Barbara appeared mollified and even had a slight smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes like it had minutes before. “Thank you, Beej. That… that means more than I can say.” She looked away, face heavy with unsaid words.

“What’s the problem then?” he asked as softly as he could. The whole sympathy and compassion thing was still new to him, but he was trying to be a softer version of himself for these people, to take a page out of Lydia’s book and dull down his sharper edges so he would stop cutting himself and others with the spillover. Those metaphors might have gotten a bit crossed there, but the sentiment still applied.

Barbara looked down and said so quietly that anyone else likely wouldn’t have heard her, “I just miss going outside.”

“Oh,” he said.

Barbara’s voice was thick with emotion. “It’s just— it’s just so frustrating! And sad. We’re dead now, so we should be able to go and do anything we want! Like see the world and go to the movies without paying and just _see_ things. But we’re stuck here, and we like it here, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t think Adam and I imagined being stuck in this house for all of eternity. We at least would’ve upgraded the guest bath if we did,” she joked weakly.

“It is pretty ugly,” Beetlejuice agreed. “Worse now that Delia’s gotten ahold of it.” Barbara and Beetlejuice were both of the same mind that Delia’s decorating skills left a lot to be desired. He didn’t think Barbara’s were any better, but he valued his undead life enough not to mention that aloud.

Barbara huffed a laugh. “Isn’t it just? But, yeah, that’s just it. Adam and I are feeling a bit cooped up. Like the world is changing all around us and we can’t see or experience any of it. We can’t even plant the herbs in an actual garden,” she ended with a bitter note.

Maybe they _had_ been dead long enough to realize how quickly things changed. 

“You can’t? The garden is like a totally legit part of the house though?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing them step outside, even onto the pack porch, but he’d assumed it was due to a lack of desire on their part. Barbara shook her head to the negative. The rules for how far a ghost could haunt past their death place were complete bullshit anyways. A roll of the dice, really.

Beetlejuice hummed sympathetically. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to make this better for her. She could pass on to the Netherworld, which would give her a larger area to roam, but that wasn’t an answer she’d accept and the idea didn’t hold much appeal to Beetlejuice either.

“Speaking of, where is A-dog?”

“In our room reading. He’s not big on plants, but knowing we couldn’t put them outside upset him so he’s taking some time to himself.”

“Oh,” he replied lamely. One day he’d learn not to put his foot in his mouth, but today clearly wasn’t that day.

“It’s alright though. At least we’re here together and we’ve even gained a few new members to the family,” Barbara said, pushing herself off the wall and forcing a more cheery tone. “Not how we expected to, but when does life ever go how you expect?” Her laugh was humorless but she seemed to have shaken off the bulk of her doom and gloom.

Beetlejuice was beginning to feel the stirrings of an idea form.

“Babs?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you and Sexy pulled a Thelma and Louise and took a tumble through the floorboards?”

He probably should have said that more tactfully, but he and tact got along even worse than he and Juno, and Barbara didn’t seem offended. In fact, she looked almost amused.

“I recall, yes.”

“Do you still have the flooring?”

“The flooring?” He nodded. “I’m not sure. I think most of it is still in the basement. They used what they could to fix the damaged floor, but most of it was still unusable.”

“Thanks, Babs,” he chirped and moved to leave before pausing. “You’re good, right? Not gonna take any unplanned trips to Saturn as soon as I turn my back?”

She looked at him indulgently with an expression he’d call fond on anyone else. But that couldn’t be right. This was _him_ they were talking about. It was probably just constipation. He chose to ignore the fact that Barbara didn’t have a functioning digestive system anymore that would make that possible. 

“I’m good. Don’t worry,” she said.

“Promise?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her but old fears were hard to squash down and death clung to this house like fog.

“Pinky promise,” Barbara replied, holding out a pinky that he linked with his own.

Beetlejuice echoed her words, “Pinky promise,” before disappearing to the basement.

He had work to do.

He’d found the wood easily enough. It was stacked all nice and neat on one of the back walls.

Unfortunately, that was the only easy part of this whole fucking trial. Sisyphus had it easy. If Zeus really wanted to punish him, he should have made him construct a fence _without_ using any demonic powers because fuck Beetlejuice, apparently. 

He hit his thumb with the hammer, missing the nail by an embarrassing margin, and snarled. Beetlejuice was _this close_ to throwing the damn thing across the yard or burning into dust. Instead, he took a deep breath like Delia yapped about when they did their breathing exercises.

In two three four. Hold two three four five. Exhale three four five six seven. The cycle repeated until he no longer felt like destroying everything within reach.

But nothing in life or death that was important was without effort. And nothing that took effort was without _immense_ frustration.

For reasons beyond his understanding he couldn’t use his demonic powers to build the fence, which meant he was out here with countless hand tools and a limited understanding of how to use them. He’d put up a simple glamor so if anyone looked outside, they’d just see the backyard— he didn’t want to get caught out before he was done. And he summoned the tools and wood to fill in the gaps where there wasn’t enough of the existing wood from the house, but the actual building of the fence was pure blood, sweat, and tears.

It was almost done, though, even if it had taken most of the day. There was one final board left and the Maitland-Deetz household would be fenced in and their resident ghosts _should_ be able to step outside. The rules of the dead were complete bullshit and a fence _not_ made out of the existing house likely wouldn't have expanded their haunting territory since they weren’t already allowed outside of the house’s borders, but hopefully this would work.

It had to because Beetlejuice had hyped this up enough that he’d be devastated if it didn’t. And that wasn’t even considering how his favorite ghosts would feel if they got their hopes up only to have their asses sent to Saturn.

He hammered in the final nail. _Done_.

He stepped back to admire the fence. It looked like shit if he was being honest, but it was there and hopefully Delia would be willing to overlook its shoddy construction and offense to her aesthetic if it meant the Maitlands would be able to step outside. He didn’t think for a moment she’d want him to take it down, but he feared that any attempts at altering it might make the whole thing fall down. Or fail, sending Maitlands 2.0 packing.

The wood in the fence, since it was a mix of old and new, had to be carefully constructed, each old piece in contact with another, making a perimeter. It didn’t matter how much new wood was there, so long as the original pieces stayed touching. It was all very precarious, but it would do for now.

Maybe Charles knew something about construction. He probably should’ve asked him before starting but it was too late now.

Now to get the Maitlands, he thought with a grin, hair a furious green.

Beetlejuice corralled everyone near the back door with much cajoling and fending off nosy questions and annoyance from various people getting their nights interrupted, but Lydia could _get over it_ , he thought. This was more important than whatever secret voodoo she had going on.

“Beetlejuice,” Charles started with an exasperated tone, which was rude since Beetlejuice hadn’t even been bothering him today. “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see,” Beetlejuice said.

“And why are you so excited?” Lydia asked, full of suspension. “It’s weird. Are you going to throw a bunch of dead rats on us or something?”

“Please don’t,” Delia said.

“Nope! First of all, my pranks are much better than that. And second of all, if I had a dead rat I’d have eaten it already.”

He grabbed their hands and pulled the Maitlands closer to the door with him. “Where do rats fall on the food ranking list?” Lydia asked.

“Depends on if they’ve eaten rat poison or not. Unpoisoned rats fall below candle wax but above stickers.”

“That good?”

He nodded. “Poisoned rats are somewhere in the middle of the bad food category.”

“Makes sense,” Delia agreed. “What?” she asked at Charles’s odd look. He really should be used to his family’s nonsense by now.

“But that’s not the point!” Beetlejuice announced, throwing the back door open.

“What _is_ the point, Bug?” Adam asked as Beetlejuice flushed. It was a new nickname Adam had been trying out and it never failed to make streaks of pink flow through his hair. Adam and Babs loved it.

Beetlejuice tugged Adam and Barbara forward closer to the door. “Come with me and see,” he said with a grin.

“Beej,” Barbara said gently. “We can’t go outside. Remember?”

They were at the border now, right where their limits previously were. “That’s where you’re wrong, Babs. Trust me?”

Adam and Barbara shared a look before turning back to him. They both nodded.

“Yes,” Adam said.

Beetlejuice felt a pang through his heart at that. It was a unique sensation, being trusted so easily by someone he had such power to hurt, especially at that moment. Their trust was hard owned and cherished more than anything.

So, Beetlejuice tugged them forward, ignoring Charles’ worried call of his name, and with hesitant steps the Maitland stepped outside of their house for the first time in over a year.

They stepped outside and stayed there.

No Saturn. No sandworms. Just them and the cool night, punctuated by cricket song and fireflies.

“Beej?” Barbara asked, looking down at her feet with a stunned expression.

“I— how?” Adam asked.

He pulled them forward and they followed, amazement clear with each step they were able to take.

Soon they were in the middle of the yard and he squeezed their hands, meaning to let go, but they both clung on to him. The Deetz had followed them outside and were standing nearby with equally astounded faces. Fuck yeah. He was the ghost with the most and this was damn impressive.

“Is that a fence?” Charles asked.

“Good eye Chuck! Yes it is.” He turned back to the Maitlands. “I used the original flooring from the house. So per the ghost rules that govern all this shit, the yard is now part of the house. Meaning, it’s free reign for you two to haunt.”

“You build that,” Barbara asked, voice full of astonishment.

“Yep.”

Suddenly, before he could even register movement, his arms were filled with one Barbara Maitlands as she enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, followed closely behind by Adam.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Adam nodded into his shoulder. “This is… this is amazing.”

“More than we ever thought possible.”

“ _Yes_. Thank you.”

Beetlejuice could feel his hair turn a vibrant shade of pink. “It was no problem. Didn’t have nothin’ better to do,” he squeaked, feeling overwhelmed at the genuine shows of emotion.

“We all know that’s not true,” Adam said, pulling back from the hug and poking Beetlejuice teasingly in the side. Barbara pulled back as well and he scolded himself for missing their presence already, especially since they were still holding his hands. He squeezed them.

“Couldn’t let me live in my bullshit, could you?”

“Nope,” Adam chirped. “It’s time to face the mortifying ordeal of being known.”

“Sounds awful,” Beetlejuice smiled. He meant it too, but at the same time maybe being known wasn’t _too_ bad. Especially since it meant mously little ghosties were now bold enough to call out his shit and give him bear hugs.

Fortunately, Barbara was feeling more merciful than her spouse and changed the subject. “Now we can move the plants outside!”

“Oh my goodness! You’re right.”

“You two are so lame,” Beetlejuice said fondly. “You get to go outside and the first thing you want to do is garden.”

“ _And_ I can get a better look at the local birds now,” Adam chirped.

“So lame,” Beetlejuice whispered.

“You could always join us,” Barbara said easily, for all the world like they weren’t rocking him to his core just then with all their _emotions_ and _hugs_ and _being nice_. It was disgusting. It was wonderful. He thought he might be addicted.

Beetlejuice just nodded, not trusting himself to speak out loud. Fortunately Delia saved him from having to.

“We’re happy for you,” she said, clasping her hands together, the joy in her face unmistakable.

“Yes,” Charles agreed. “Very happy. But Beetlejuice?”

“Hmm?”

“No more unauthorized construction projects please.”

“I make no promises.” Charles sighed. He was accepting Beetlejuice’s bullshit more easily and with less protest nowadays. He didn’t even seem upset about it.

Lydia raised a hand and waved it, drawing the other’s attention to her and looking like the cat that caught the canary. “At the risk of overwhelming everyone with happy and exciting news tonight, I have one more surprise tonight.”

“Oh?” Barbara asked. “What’s that?”

Adam chuckled. “I don’t think my heart can handle any more surprises tonight.”

“Fortunately for you, then, this one’s for BJ.”

“Me?” he asked, mildly supposed before remembering how shifty she’d been that morning. “Do _you_ have a dead rat prank?”

She scoffed. “You wish, loser. Come on, it’s upstairs.”

Just then he felt that familiar tug in his chest that let him know he had a guide coming. This one was strong, too, likely either a group of people who died together or a ghost with an especially strong tie to the mortal plane. Either way, it was going to be hours of bullshit. He could tell.

He groaned. “Sorry, kid. I have a guide.”

“Right now?”

“Right the fuck now.”

“Ugh. Can’t it wait?”

“Now, Lydia, Mr. Juice has a job to do—”

“Gets funnier every time Chuck. Really, it does.”

“What does?”

“The Mr. Juice thing. I have an actual last name, you know? Never _ever_ call me by it, but I do have one.”

“You do?” Adam asked, surprised.

“What’s your last name?” Charles asked.

“Yep,” Beetleuice said to Adam, popping the ‘p.’ “But I need to get going. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

They all stared at him as he didn’t leave.

“Uh, Babs, Sexy?”

“Yes?” Barbara asked.

“You both gotta let go of me unless you wanna end up in Thailand.”

“Oh!”

“Whoops, sorry!”

They both let go of his hands like they’d forgotten they were holding them in the first place, stepping back with wonderful flushes on their cheeks.

“No big deal. See y’all on the flip side,” he winked and disappeared, finding himself in the middle of a cage that held a rather large tiger. He sighed at the sight of what it was eating. Yeah, Lydia’s surprise would have to wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least the Barbara and Adam got something nice 😇


	7. Making New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all get this one a little early since I'm excited about it! I'm almost finished writing chapter 9 so we're in the final stretch now!!
> 
> This chapter was a pain and a half to write, so I hope all of y'all enjoy :)

Lydia returned to her room in an odd state of emotions. Excitement for her ghost parents warred against the disappointment that Beetlejuice left. She knew he’d be back soon but she’d been working on getting the circle right all day, even sneaking into her parents room to ‘borrow’ some crystals that the internet said made demon summonings work better. 

She thought it might be a load of crap, but Beej had said some of Delia’s crystals held ‘energy,’ whatever that meant. So it couldn’t hurt.

After he left, she batted the rest of the family away, saying that Beetlejuice had to be there for the surprise and _no_ she couldn’t just show them tonight. The Maitlands seemed fine with it. In fact, Lydia was halfway certain that even the second coming of Christ couldn’t convince them to come inside now that they could venture into the yard.

Lydia smiled to herself. She really was happy for them. She couldn’t imagine being stuck inside all day long for weeks and months and years on end, without the ability to travel farther than the walls she was sure had become like a prison for them.

Lydia often found her wondering where she’d end up after she passed on, whether she would pass straight on to the Netherworld without an earthly pitstop— Beej told her once that the movie trope that only people with unfinished business or lingering attachments wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Happy people moved on without having to meet Beetlejuice or his underlings first and Lydia was trying her best to be a happy person. Therapy, time, and a more stable home life had done wonders.

At the same time she thought she might miss the Maitlands if she passed on without lingering on Earth for a bit. And then there were her parents to consider. Maybe everyone could pass on together once they all shuffled past this mortal coil. Jolting herself out of the morbid thoughts, Lydia opened the door to her room. Lingering on death was practically second nature in their house, but it wasn’t always good for the mental state. Besides, she had decades before that would be an issue. Hopefully and probably.

She sighed, looking at the mess that her room had become. The circle was smaller than she’d planned, due to a lack of space and general mess in the room. Unlit candles were at each point of the pentagram at the center and what was hopefully Arlund’s symbol was at the uppermost peak. The other four star points contained the symbols from the first four chapter titles: king, duke, prince, and marquise.

It was likely overkill since the circles in the chapter on lesser demons, which is what Arlund ostensibly was according to the text, didn’t contain the symbols for the higher ranked demons. She hoped that would make the devil’s trap stronger rather than nullifying it.

None of it mattered just then because she wouldn’t be able to catch up with Beetlejuice until the morning. Only a thought occurred to her just then and she perked up, freezing from where she’d started picking up the candles. It was stupid and reckless and even more dangerous than summoning a prince of hell to scare her dad, but hindsight was 20-20.

She let the candle back down and snatched the _Ars Goetia_ off her desk. She flipped through it, finding Arlund’s page somewhere in the back, shoved in between two other demons that were objectively scarier in appearance.

Maybe she could summon Arlund herself, _without_ Beetlejuice’s help, and tomorrow morning he’d wake up to the face of an old friend. (And she could stay up late making nice with the wolf demon and getting all the hot gossip and details about embarrassing shit she was sure Beetlejuice had done before they met.) 

The summoning spells in the book weren’t too long and most were at least 80% translatable, but Lydia figured they would work better in the original language. Nobody in movies summoned demons in English. Latin was much cooler and she would hedge her bets that this language, whatever it was, would be even more awesome in a movie format. But, alas, she didn’t speak mystery language.

Fortunately for Lydia, _The Handbook for the Recently Deceased_ also contained summoning spells, written in easy-to-pronounce but severely uncool English. Also fortunately for Lydia, she’d taken pictures of the entire book on her phone a few months back since she couldn’t open it herself and wanted to go through it. How a book knew she was alive, she had no idea, but preternatural objects didn’t care what physics said.

Finding a summoning spell was easy enough and it seemed to be fairly generic. The guidebook claimed it _works for all basic summonings! Just say the below words, inserting the true name of the demon or demons that you would like to summon, and you’ll find your afterlife suddenly a lot more interesting. Please note: all summonings should be performed under the direct supervision of an expert and used tangentially with a Summoning Circle (i.e., Devil’s trap, magic circle, etc.). More information about these can be found in_ The Guide to all Practical Demon Summonings for the Not-Recently Deceased _. Please note that failure to engage in standard safety protocols may result in your untimely and painful Final Death_.

She didn’t have the supplemental book, but she _did_ have the circle and, while an expert wasn’t present at that exact moment, he would be here soon after the summoning itself. Lydia dismissed the warnings about the danger— she already handled Beetlejuice on a daily basis. Any other demon, aside from Juno obviously, would have to be a cakewalk compared to him.

Besides, Beej outranked him and that had to mean the other demon was less powerful than him. Ergo, the biggest danger to all this was having too much fun and waking her dad up. Her logic seemed solid enough.

Lydia lit the candles one by one, the room filling with the scents of cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin spice and fresh linen. They didn’t mix well, but she didn’t have any candlesticks on hand. Off-brand Yankee Candle would have to do and, she had to admit, the thought of summoning a demon to the smells of a new age mom house was endlessly amusing to her.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever and _whoever_ was about to appear in her bedroom, never doubting for a second that this wouldn’t go just as planned. Beetlejuice would be ecstatic to see his friend. His hair would light up that neon grin that made her and everyone else smile to see. (It was like seeing a puppy run in excited circles— you just couldn’t help being happy too). Adam would sputter and get all embarrassed while Barbara tried to get to know the new addition to the house. Dad would protest and hem and haw and complain she should’ve asked before inviting a new friend over before finally giving in and Delia would try and keep the peace while being secretly thrilled at the chaos. And there Lydia would be in the middle of it all, orchestrating the circus and pulling no doubt extraordinary pranks on unsuspecting citizens and annoying the resident town ghosts.

The words flowed from her tongue like honey, excitement lacing every word as she began the summoning. There wasn’t anything so dramatic as the swelling of music that accompanied movies or the flames of the candles rising into an inferno or a billow smoke appearing in her room. It was anticlimactic without a rush and rise of anticipation, just one second she was alone and the next she wasn’t.

She’d kill someone before she admitted it, but as soon as she saw the creature sitting in the circle mere feet from her, she yelped loudly enough that it was a miracle no one rushed in to see what was wrong and jumped back far enough to hit the bedframe and bruise the backs of her legs.

The pictures didn’t do him justice. Arlund was _horrifying_ to look at. Calling him a wolf would be doing wolves a disservice, for all that he had the barest tracest of one. He was massive. If she wrapped her arms around the snake tail that made up his hind legs she didn’t think her fingertips would meet. The top half looked the most like a wolf, a massive and scraggly gray mane stretched from behind his ears to midway down his back, matted and covered in substances she didn’t dare name. His front legs reminded her of a bat without wings, the way they stuck up when he leaned forwards on them, ending in jagged, multiple inch long claws. Arlund’s beak was scraggly and black with needle-like teeth visible even when his mouth was shut.

Lydia pressed a palm to her mouth as she tried to hold back a terrified scream, at the same time trying not to puke at the overwhelming smell of rotten meat and corpse that wafted off of the demon in waves. _This_ was a lesser demon? If this beast of a creature didn’t get a rank then what the fuck was up with Beetlejuice?

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and immediately regretted it as she gagged on the choking smell of meat. Lydia couldn’t be sure but it looked like Arlund grinned when she did that, an exaggerated expression that didn’t convey joy or humor in the least.

When he spoke his voice was like honey, smooth and pacifying, a sharp contrast to everything about him. It was almost the opposite of Beetlejuice, who generally looked like a disheveled but chill twenty-something who listened to hard rock, did too much pot, and acted like an overgrown child, but spoke like he gargled sandpaper for fun. He did eat glass for fun, but it wasn’t the same.

“For what purpose did you summon me?” the creature sitting in her room asked in an overly formal tone that reminded her of a bygone era, his eyes glinting in the candle-light. They were like black pits, deep and unyielding, and Lydia had never regretted doing anything more than she did in that moment.

Arlund eyed her through as she gulped, steeling her nerves, but finding them half as hard as limp noodles. She persevered. There was no other option at this point; there was no turning back now, no magic spell that would undo this.

“H—” she started, breaking off and clearing her throat. “Hey,” she said, voice weaker than she would have preferred.

“Hello,” Arlund replied in a dulcet lilt.

“You’re, uh, you’re Arlund?”

His head and shoulders tilted forward in a pantomime of a nod, like the odd gestures Beetlejuice sometimes did, mimicries of human gestures that were _just_ off enough to be noticeable.

“That I am, but I’m afraid that you have me at an advantage. Might I have your name?” he replied, voice coated in a sweetness so false it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Lydia was forcefully reminded of childhood tales of fairies that stole people’s names with the same question. Fairies that spoke in velvet tones to hide their horrifying natures, hiding their cruelties under the guise of friendship.

“You can call me Lydia,” she said. The glint in Arlund’s eyes didn’t diminish and she sent a prayer to whoever was listening that she wasn’t playing into Arlund’s hands. Paws? Claws? She eyes the massive talons extending off his front hands. She decided to call them hands.

Lydia made a point to always attempt to see the other side when dealing with someone she didn’t agree with or understand, to walk a mile in their shoes as it were. She did her best not to judge at first glance, so she thought that _maybe_ Arlund wasn’t as evil as he seemed in that moment. Maybe, like Beetlejuice, he just needed a bath and an opportunity to socialize and prove himself kinder than he appeared and acted at first glance.

But, at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to shake off the fear bred into her DNA that _this_ was the reason humans still feared the dark. That this was the boogeyman that inspired fear in countless generations of children. That this was the cause of the creeping sensation you get when outside alone at night, the reason humans all rush home to their lit houses that are a mere mimicry of protection against the true dangers of the dark. 

His eyes were soulless and it unnerved her more and more with each passing second as she clutched her phone to her chest, a last defense against whatever she was about to face.

“Lydia, a lovely name,” Arlund said. They each stared at each other in silence, Lydia gathering her courage. What Arlund was thinking or doing, she couldn’t even begin to guess.

She broke the quiet in unsteady tones, her words starting and stopping like cars in traffic. “You’re… you’re, uh, friends? Friends with, uh, with Beetlejuice?”

He tilted his head in question, too far to one side to be a normal gesture, much like Beetlejuice does when he’s confused about something. “Betelgoose?” he asked, pronouncing the name the same incorrect way that the woman in the documentary had earlier.

“Yes,” Lydia said, pushing as much confidence as she dared into the single word.

Arlund hummed, a crackling sound like tinder burning and snapping. 

“Did you summon me here to kill the prince Betelgoose?” he asked, sneering the word ‘prince’ like it was a disease.

“No!” Lydia cried out, feeling immediate regret at showing her attachment to her friend in such an obvious way. She had the sense that any weakness, any signs of attachment, would be viciously rooted out and used against her. “I mean, no,” she said more calmly, but she could tell the damage was already done.

“Interesting,” Arlund drawled. “Then why did you summon me?” He stretched out as far as the circle would allow, each vertebrae popping as he stared her down, and Lydia allowed herself to feel a small amount of relief at the indication that the summoning circle was keeping him contained. However, he still looked far too relaxed and in control of the situation for her liking.

Lydia felt the words die on her throat, the explanation that she brought him here to hang out, to be friends with her and Beetlejuice, to join them in their lighthearted shenanigans. She knew it would be a mistake to admit her naïve hopes out loud. How was Beetlejuice friends with this… this _monster?_

Her fear of being premature in her judgement, since he hadn’t _actually_ done anything wrong yet, was overshadowed by her certainty that given half a chance Arlund would kill and eat her, snapping her bones like bird wings.

She wasn’t wrong.

In fact, she’d never been more right about something.

“I— I would like you to leave.”

“Oh?” Arlund said, tilting his head the other way and flicking the tip of his tail like Sandy did when she was about to snap at her. “And why is that? We haven’t even made a Contract yet.”

“A Contract?”

“Yes, little Lydia. A _Contract_ . My, my, you really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” He paused for a response that didn’t come and sighed in what sounded like disappointment. “What are they teaching kids these days? Yes, a Contract,” he snarled, becoming more visibly agitated. “That’s how this works. You summon me, _disturbing_ my day in ways you can’t even understand, _child_ , interrupting my meal, and you don’t even know how to do this _right_.” His voice didn’t rise in tone, but his annoyance and anger was clear as his tail flicked back and forth and his teeth snapped at her.

“You don’t summon a demon for, how do you say? _Shits and giggles_ . We are summoned for a _reason_ that is outlined in the Contract that we sign.” His claws dug into her floor board, leaving deep gouges that somehow didn’t disturb the chalk markings. “And after the Contract is fulfilled, _then_ , I return to the Netherworld. I can’t be sent back without us coming to a deal, little one.”

Lydia’s mind was racing and she wished desperately that Beetlejuice was here, but even more desperately for this to be over. In her haze of panic, the thought of summoning Beetlejuice or calling any other member of the household for help didn’t occur to her.

Protests that she’d banished both Juno and Beetlejuice without a Contract died on her throat. Because that wasn’t quite true, was it? Beetlejuice left because he turned human and she killed him and Juno left because Beetlejuice killed her. Neither of them were ever banished. Not properly. And Lydia didn’t think she stood a chance of killing _this_ demon.

She’d have to make a Contract to get him to leave. The pit in her stomach turned to lead.

Edging around the rim of the circle, she picked up a pad of paper from her desk, Arlund’s eyes following her all the way. The thought of having her back face this nightmare of a creature filled her with such deep dread that she stood standing towards the circle, bracing the notepad on her arms instead of turning to write on the desk itself. Arlund made a clicking noise that could have been amusement.

Staring at the blankness of the notebook, Lydia was suddenly bereft of any idea of what to write for their Contract. She didn’t need or want Arlund for anything except leaving. Except he didn’t say she needed to outline a task for him to complete, did he? No, he said the Contract needed to list a reason. 

“Having trouble?” Arlund asked, words that should have been kind coming out with that false sincerity that belays the tone of politicians and false friends.

Lydia fumbled with the paper, dropping the pen and watching it roll into the circle. Arlund looked down at it and then back at her. 

She took the pen as a lost cause. “Here,” he said, holding out with clawed hand a thick stack of yellowing papers with the words _Standard Formal Contract_ written at the top in typescript letterhead that had not been there a moment before. “Go on, take it.”

Lydia reached a hand across the barrier and grabbed the Contract, snatching it back out of the circle with no resistance. 

“It’s a basic Contract, the one they give you to edit to your own needs. I’ve not changed it one bit, except for the agreement at the end, cross my heart,” he said and made a slash across his chest. Lydia watched a few drops of sluggish blood fall onto the floor. “Look at the final page.”

Lydia flipped to the back, under the heading “Terms and Conditions of Summoning” was written: _The Lesser Demon Arlund of Baal-Gad heretofore agrees to exit the household belonging to Lydia Elizabeth Deetz of Connecticut at return to the Netherworld upon his release from the summoning circle._

“See? Simple, basic enough to where there can be no misinterpretations or sneaky fine print.”

“Right,” Lydia allowed, flipping back to the beginning. “I’m still going to read the whole thing through, if you don’t mind.” She looked closely for any signs of deceit or anger and found none.

The Contract seemed clear, with just enough legalese and old fashioned terminology that she had to read through some sections twice. It made it clear that neither party was to break the Contract, that it was, well, not _legally_ binding but the demonic equivalent of it. None of it jumped out at her as overly malicious, at least not more so than human contracts. She couldn’t see any obvious loopholes and Arlund was right— their agreement was simple and clear enough. It wasn’t like she was asking him to make her wealthy or kill someone for her. She breaks the circle and he heads back home.

Problem solved within half a minute and no one would ever have to know what she’d done.

With a shaking hand she signed where the paper indicated and handed the Contract back, unease never quite leaving her despite having mostly convinced herself that this was the best and only solution. Arlund smiled at her, a disquieting gesture coming from a beak, and summoned a quill pen, signing his name with rust-colored ink in a flourish.

The papers glowed gold, like the house rules had all those months ago, and so the Contract was sealed. There wasn’t even a blood oath, Lydia thought to herself humorlessly. So lame.

“Now fulfill your end of the bargain so I can fulfill mine. I _do_ have a wonderful meal to be getting back to,” Arlund said.

Lydia leaned down and with more confidence that she felt, she erased an inch of the chalk-drawn circle with her hand and quickly stood and backed to the far side of the room. Arlund reached one over the barrier and placed it outside the circle, digging his claws into the soft wood of the flooring, leaving more deep gouges. He looked up at Lydia and made eye contact, still wearing his disturbing facsimile of a smile.

Arlund slithered outside the circle the rest of the way, smearing it completely unfixable with his tail as he did so, ensuring that a single line couldn’t repair it. 

“Thank you, little Lydia,” he said, sounding for all the world like a charming gentleman. It didn’t suit him.

“You’re welcome,” she said, jutting her chin up in a pantomime of bravery and clenching her fist to stop its trembling. “Now it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.”

“Of course, and I _shall_ ,” Arlund said, approaching Lydia as she backed into the door, grasping at the handle as she snaked her arm behind her back. “But I _did_ say that you interrupted my dinner and I do love the taste of human children. Their meat is just juicer than adult humans and no other species can truly compare.” Saliva dripped out of his muzzle, making a trail on the floor as he got nearer, savoring her fear as he slowly approached.

Lydia gulped, eyes widening in unadulterated terror as Arlund watched the movement with the keen eyes of a hungry hunter that knew his prey had no chance of escaping. He was a predator who already knew that it had won.

“You— you can’t hurt me. You agreed to leave after I released you,” Lydia sputtered, begging that it would be true.

“That I did,” Arlund agreed. “But nowhere in that Contract did it say I can’t harm you before I do or how long before I return downstairs so, really, I have free reign to do _whatever the fuck_ I want,” he snarled, each word a harsh staccato. He stopped inches from her face and breathed in her scent. “I do so love the smell of terrified breather. Now _run._ ” Lydia, feeling a lot like that cat’s mouse, flung the door open, racing down the hall and down the staircase where she knew the rest of her family would be.

“Dad! Delia! Adam! Barbara!” she screamed, feeling her pulse race and sweat bead up on her brow. “ _Help!_ ”

Charles stood up, alarmed, from where he was on the couch with Delia. The brides on the screen were screaming about how unfair it was that the florist ran out of pink peonies and Lydia found herself bitter, for however fleeting a moment in between her bursts of terror and scrambling to find a solution, that their worst problems were flowers while a bloodthirsty demon from hell was planning on ripping her apart for dinner. Her life put priorities in perspective.

Two and three years ago tests were the end of the world, last year it was her mom dying and her best friend leaving, and now here they were.

Lydia skidded to a stop in front of Delia and Charles, sputtering and heaving labored breathers, but somehow still conveying the gist of what was happening, while frequently glancing back to see if Arlund had followed. Her parent’s matching looks of horror didn’t fill her with confidence. What was she thinking? They knew nothing about the occult past sage, quartz, and whatever they retained from Beetlejuice’s ramblings. Wait— Beetlejuice! 

“We have to summon Beetlejuice,” she said. “He can help.”

They heard thudding from upstairs. Arlund was toying with them. He could have torn them into a thousand tiny pieces by now. It reminded her of her childhood cat who’d once caught a roach in their basement. Lydia remembered watching, expecting her to kill it, but the cat sat there for close to an hour, letting the roach escape only to catch it time and time again. Throwing it on its back and watching it squirm, only to flip it right side up and repeat the chase. In the end, she didn’t even eat it. She killed it and her mom disposed of the little chitinous body later. It was all just a game to a predator. The roach was hardly even a being in the cat’s mind, an unimportant toy made for her amusement, just as they didn’t even count as people to the monster hunting them.

“Do it. _Quickly_ ,” Charles said. Lydia didn’t know why she expected him to argue against it. If there was ever a time to have an extremely powerful demon in your corner, it was now.

“Beetlejuice.” 

They could now see Arlund at the top of the stairs. In the bright light, she could now see the mats in his fur was congealed blood.

“Beetlejuice.”

She heard the back door shut as Barbara and Adam came inside. They needed to run, stay outside where they were safer.

“ _Beetlejuice!_ ”

There wasn’t a dramatic _pop_ or _flash_ when he arrived, just his absence followed by his presence as you blinked to adjust to the inhuman nature of how your surroundings just changed. He appeared and stared at the trio, glancing to the kitchen to see the Maitlands stepping into the living room.

He was covered in blood and holding what looked like a human femur. Jesus _fucking_ Christ— what the ever-loving hell was he doing before she summoned him?

“What the fuck, Lyds? I was in the middle of something,” Beetlejuice groused.

Barbara yelped and put a hand to her mouth. “What do you _have_?” she screeched. 

Beetlejuice looked at the bone in his hands, watching as the blood dripped to the floor, and then looked at Barbara and Adam, who were staring at him aghast. 

Lydia saw movement. “Behind you!” she cried out and Beetlejuice turned.

Arlund was on him in an instant, pinning his arms to the ground with his own, saliva dripping down onto his face, sending the femur clattering across the floor.

“Betelgoose! Old friend, what are you doing here?” he asked, almost cheery.

Adam yelped and Charles grabbed Lydia and Delia’s arms, pulling them towards him and backing away from the demons. Lydia saw Barbara summon a bat. She’d gotten better at summoning items recently, but Lydia didn’t think a bat would do much good against this thing. A knife or gun might have been a better bet.

“Ar— Arlund? What the fuck?” he asked incredulously, mouth gaping in shock.

“I said,” Arlund growled, all traces of cheer gone in an instant, pushing his claws deeper into Beetlejuice’s arms, eliciting a pained grunt, “ _What_ are you doing here?”

Beetlejuice disappeared, causing Arlund to fall forward slightly and whip around with seeking eyes, snapping his maul at the empty air. Beetlejuice reappeared behind the Deetz’s, causing them all to jolt, and hissed at Lydia, “ _What did you_ do?”

His hair was a furious shade of red, rivaling their wedding and the time she accidentally threw out his bag of cocaine, but looking at him she felt no fear, the terror that had been racing through her blood for the past eternity of minutes faded into a dull echo of what it had been. Her hands still trembled with adrenaline, but Beetlejuice was here and she felt a child-like surety that he’d protect her, that he’d take care of everything and it would all be alright.

Unfortunately, nothing in life was that easy.

“Over here!” Barbara yelled and Arlund whipped around to her and Adam.

“Barb, _no,”_ Adam cried out and Barbara shoved him to the side and held her bat up high.

Lydia rushed to explain, not allowing herself to tremble over her words as Arlund zeroed in on their presence. “I found that book in your room. The one with the weird pictures? And I thought _hey, wouldn’t it be nice if I could summon one of Beetlejuice’s friends? Then we could go on adventures together and he’d be so happy and we’d have so much fun_ . But then I summoned him, and oh God, Beetlejuice, he is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. Are you _really_ friends with him? He eats people!” she said in a rush, words tripping over themselves in a rush to get out.

Charles and Delia shared a disbelieving look, but they didn’t have time for that at the moment.

She’d never seen Beetlejuice in shock as he was now. Suddenly, he grabbed them all and they disappeared at that moment, hearing a sickening crunch that presumably used to be the door they were standing next to.

A snarl shook the house. 

“Hey!” They heard Adam call out, followed by a small thud and a yelp, then a larger thud, disquieting sizzling noise, and a crash. Lydia didn’t dare look.

Beetlejuice had no such qualms, peering out the bar window that separated the kitchen and living room.

“Lydia,” Charles hissed. “What were you thinking?”

“Is now really the time?”

“No, it’s not,” Delia said, clinging to Charles with clear panic as she still had Lydia’s hand clenched in her own. “What do we do?” 

“ _What_ did you _do_ Lydia?” Beetlejuice demanded.

“I just told you!”

“Over here!” Barbara called out and there was another crash. Glass shards scattered, spreading out over the living room and into the kitchen. The noise of the TV that had become white noise cut off.

Beetlejuice snarled, a sound Lydia couldn’t help compare to Arlund’s own noises.

“No,” he said. “ _How_ did you summon Arlund?”

“I _told_ you. With the book in your room!”

“You broke into— How’d you even read— Nevermind all that. How did you summon him? A spell? A circle? What? I need _details_ , Lyds.”

“We don’t have time for details,” Charles broke in. “We need to figure out how to get that _thing_ out of the house! We can figure out how it happened later.”

Beetlejuice growled out, “I need to know how she did it so I can figure out how to banish him Chuck.”

“Boys,” Delia hissed. “Not the time. Lydia, how did you summon it?”

“The, the, the _book_ ,” she sputtered as they continued to hear thuds and growls from the other side of the wall. “There was a circle and I drew it and I used the spell from _The Handbook_ to get him here.”

“How’d he get out of the circle?”

Lydia made a whining noise and she heard Barbara scream. “I let him out. We made a Contract and it said I’d let him out and he’d leave, but apparently I didn’t specify how soon he had to leave and he couldn't hurt us. And I’m so _so_ sorry,” Lydia said, tears streaming down her face and she finally broke.. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. Charles wrapped her in a hug, pulling her close in a tight embrace, and looked at Beetlejuice.

“What do we do now?”

Beetlejuice snarled in frustration. “Now? _Now_ , Chuck, I get to go get my ass handed to me.”

With a blink he was gone and the Deetz’s were left alone.

“ _There_ you are,” Arlund snarled from across the wall.

Lydia swallowed back her sobs. There’d be time enough for that later, should they all survive this.

“We have to help him,” she said.

“What?” Charles exclaimed. “ _No._ He can take care of himself, Lydia.”

“But he’s family and this is all _my_ fault, not his. We can’t just leave him alone to fend for himself!”

Lydia pushed away from Charles and Delia grabbed her hands before she could dart off.

“I know, _I know_ ,” Delia said. “I want to help too, but Beej is a demon and we’re just human. I don’t think we’d do anything but get in the way, sweetheart. Let him handle this,” Delia rubbed her hands over Lydia’s in a soothing motion.

She pulled back in disgust, tear tracks still streaking her face. “I can’t believe you both would abandon him like this. Aren’t we a family?”

“I mean—”

“Of course we—”

“And doesn’t family stick together? Don’t they help each other?”

Charles and Delia shared a look. “I— yes.”

“And Beej is out there getting hurt and maybe even killed trying to protect all of us! I don’t know about you two, but I’m going out there and helping my brother.”

Lydia walked up to the kitchen counter and pulled a large chef’s knife out of the knife block.

“Your brother?” Charles asked.

Was this really the part he wanted to focus on? Lydia let out a snarl of her own. Picking up one another’s traits could go both ways. Beetlejuice showered and Lydia growled at people now and they were both okay with that.

“Yeah, Beej says he’s your kid when we go out. We get less weird looks that way,” she said, nodding at the knife in approval. It would have to do.

With that she ran into the living room, knife fisted at her side, ignoring whatever Delia was calling out to her.

What she saw was something out of her worst nightmares. Adam was laying motionless in the pile of wood and destruction that used to be a bookshelf while Barbara still had a hold of her bat and had it lifted over her shoulder, eyeing Arlund warily and edging closer to Adam.

Blood was smeared across the walls and floors and Beetlejuice was circling Arlund. He had a large gash across his chest and Arlund was smearing bloody claw prints on the floor with each step, his serpentine hind half dragging behind him.

The puzzle pieces were clear and Lydia held back the sudden urge to throw up.

She inhaled snarled and Arlund swung his head to meet her eyes. “Ah, and there’s the lady of the hour,” he said, pulling back in preparation to lunge. Lydia flinched and flung her knife up in a sharp movement, bracing herself for a blow that didn’t come.

Beetlejuice tackled Arlund, sending them flying across the hardwood and knocking into the wall. Sharp talons dug into Beetlejuice’s sides as he summoned a sharp dagger and dug it into Arlund’s side, evoking a dull grunt of pain.

Arlund pulled back and grabbed Beetlejuice by the throat, throwing him across the room, where he hit the couch with a sickening crunch and an odd pop. Lydia gulped as he didn’t immediately get up and held her knife up. While a confidence boost for the few feet it took to get here, it now felt like little more than a toy. What did she think she was going to do with a knife? Beetlejuice already stabbed him and it did next to nothing.

Arlund reared back, his snake half making him almost as tall as the ceiling, an imposing figure. Blood and saliva dripped onto the floor.

“Aw, did I break your glamor? _Too bad_. Now they’ll see you for what you really are.”

He stared after Beetlejuice for a moment, who didn’t respond to the taunt, who wasn’t responding or moving at all. A limp hand was splayed off to the side with fingers tipped in blood, his humerus bent in an unnatural angle. She flicked her eyes to the side, forcing them away from her friend, to notice Barbara kneeling next to Adam and shaking him. Like Beetlejuice, he still wasn’t moving.

Arlund’s attention returned back to her. “Don’t worry,” the living nightmare said, voice warm in a way that would have been soothing in another context. “I’ll make it quick.”

Suddenly Charles was in front of her, arms out to the side as he blocked her from view. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he snarled. “Don’t you dare touch a single hair on her head. You’ll have to get through me first.”

Delia appeared at his side, hands full of crystals that Lydia had a vague recollection of her saying they could be used to ward off demons. She’d hadn’t seen them since Beetlejuice arrived.

Arlund laughed, a deeply unsettling sound that reminded her of the ocean just before the storm, dark and turbulent but just settled enough to make you doubt if there was a storm at all or if you were overreacting to the harmless and normal changes of weather and tide. Charles took another step backwards closer to Lydia.

She saw Beetlejuice lift his head up and relief flooded through her. He looked rough and his eyes were unfocused, but he was awake and that was the important part for now. Everything else could be solved later. The words echoed through her head like a mantra.

“I’d be glad to, Chuckie boy. An appetizer will make the main course all the sweeter.”

“How do you know my name?” Charles asked, his voice threaded with a slight tremor over the steel core.

Beetlejuice stood up, leaning heavily on the couch, watching them with an intense expression, blood still dripping from his many wounds. His arm was still bent in a way that signaled a severe break, but pain didn’t cloud his face.

His face, which featured startling yellow eyes, slitted like Sandy’s. She looked more closely, noticing pointed ears that were pressed backwards, tucked against his head. What she previously thought was blood coating his fingers now appeared like a natural coloration where the color ended far too consistently on each fingertip to be blood. She was too riled up to feel relief at this, but distantly she recognized it. Large fangs peek out behind lips raised in a snarl, longer and more ferocious than they normally were. 

He looked, in short, like a demon.

Somehow, as she stared down a different demon that wanted to eat and kill her, delighting in their torment, it was a pleasant reminder that they had a prince of the Netherworld on their side, a demon more powerful than he let on and was dead set on protecting their makeshift family.

“Because,” Arlund cooed. “Our dear king Juno has called a hit out on all of you. _Tsk tsk_ ,” he hissed. “You broke the rules. Now it’s time to cash in on the consequences.”

“Juno?” Beetlejuice rasped, drawing Arlund’s attention back to him.

“ _Yes,_ dear mommy loves your new breather friends so much that they simply _must_ go back to the Netherworld. The Newly Deads too,” he added, nodding to the Maitlands. Adam was now sitting up straight, supported by Barbara. 

“We’ll never go with you,” Barbara declared. If she was feeling any fear in the moment then she wasn’t showing it. Lydia was terrified, that fear only increasing when she noticed Adam wasn’t registering anything around him. “And you’re not getting the Deetz’ either.”

Arlund looked unimpressed. “Cute. You think you have a choice.” His eyes flicked back to Beetlejuice. “But _you, she_ was very clear on. You’re to stay here and _suffer_.”

“Hah! I’d do that no matter where I was, buddy. You got your wires crossed.”

“Oh? Do I? Please tell me where I got my wires crossed then, as you so crudely put it. Because I have all the cards and advantages from where I’m standing.”

“Sure,” Beetlejuice said, summoning a large, wicked looking blade. It had strange symbols running down its length and they seemed to shift as he clenched it in his hand, broken arm still dangling at his side. “Just as soon as I decapitate you and burn your bones into dust.” He stomped on the floor, sending cracks running out from where he stepped, flames rising from them, until Arlund was surrounded by a thick circle of fire.

“Burn in hell, Arlund!”

A sickening laugh sounded from inside the circle as Arlund slithered through the flames, half in them.

He tisked. “Betelgoose, did you forget that I’m just as immune to hellfire as you?”

Beetlejuice frowned and adjusted his grip on the blade, his previously confident expression falling like a broken tombstone.

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, child, was that I’ll be going back to the Netherworld once all of this nonsense is over and I’ll be bringing all of your little friends. You’ll still be stuck here, all alone. And I know how much you _hate_ being alone. How many times did you warm my bed, letting me rip you bloody and rip you limb from limb and spill your guts on the floor just so you could spend the night?”

He laughed as Beetlejuice ducked his head, an unfamiliar flush crawling up his cheeks. That couldn’t be true, could it? Was Beetlejuice really so lonely and desperate he’d put up with such sickening abuse for a crumb of affection? She couldn’t imagine Arlund bestowing the least amount of kindness, let alone enough to make up for ripping his soft underbelly open.

She knew he put up with more than heh should for the sake of attention and affection, but that was worse than she’d ever imagined.

“You’re a monster,” Charles said. Beetlejuice’s eyes flicked to him, as if just remembering their presence, and snapped, flames disappearing. Lydia could breathe easier with the sudden lack of unearthly smoke.

Arlund ignored him, like he was little more than a gnat, annoying but not worth the effort to acknowledge. His attention was solely focused on Beetlejuice.

“But you don’t have to stay here, you know,” Arlund said in his now-familiar coo, mood flipping again. A bull ride while on a boat in the middle of a storm would be less dizzying than how fast his tone could change on a dime. “You could come back with me. Redeem yourself to Juno.”

“What the fuck are you talking about you old raggedy wolf?”

“Watch your mouth, child. I’m still your elder.”

Beetlejuice barked out a laugh and Lydia’s lips upturned slightly. If there was one thing Beetlejuice would never do, it was respect his elders just because they were older than him. They were both of the firm opinion that respect was earned.

“I outrank you,” Beetlejuice said matter-of-factly.

Arlund stared at him and the tension in the room rose again. “You don’t outrank a pile of dog shit at the moment. But that too could change.”

Beetlejuice jutted his chin out in defiance. “Yeah? How?” he sneered. Lydia could tell he didn’t believe a word that was being said.

“By listening to my deal, if you’re capable of not being a petulant hatchling for half a minute..”

“Deal?” Barbara echoed. “Don’t Beej, you know it’s a trick.”

Arlund threw a small ball of fire at her and she yelped, ducking down over Adam as it flew through the wall, leaving a searing hole in it.

“Leave her alone,” Beetlejuice snarled.

“Of course, my apologies. That was unsporting of me,” Arlund said. What the fuck?

Beetlejuice nodded and eyed Barbara and Adam, who were unharmed but shaken up. “What sort of deal?”

“Don’t!” Lydia called out, only to be hushed by Charles who clamped a hand over her mouth and hissed at her not to draw attention to them, that the situation was too hazardous.

“Easy. I just want to make Juno happy, much like you do I’m sure. She thinks that you, little one, are a bad son and everyone in the Netherworld knows it. But, _I_ know that you’re trying your best, aren’t you?” Beelejuice nodded slowly and Lydia’s dread reinserted itself thoroughly in her heart, poking her like a nest of rose thorns. 

“Yes you are,” Arlund cooed. “You want to make your mom happy too, because you’re a good and loyal child. You made mistakes, but that’s what kids do. I’m going to offer you the opportunity to make it up to her, get back in her good graces. You’re not beyond a little hard work and groveling. And if you do this, then I’m sure she’ll love you again, her good little boy who obeyed her and made her biggest annoyance go away. You’d prove yourself again, return to her side.”

“ _he deal, Arlund_.” Beetlejuice hissed.

“Yes,” he drawled, “The deal. Help me bring the Newly Deads and breathers to the Netherworld and I’ll ensure that you are placed solidly in Juno’s good graces again. No more slumming it among these disgusting humans, no more slaving away at guides. You’ll be back _home_ again, Betelgoose, surrounded by people who love you.”

Beetlejuice laughed, humorless. “That’s where you’re wrong Arlund. My mom has never loved me and betraying my… my family won’t change that.”

Arlund chuckled. “Your family? These people don’t care about you.”

“He’s lying!” Lydia called out.

“Right,” Delia said, still clutching her crystals to her chest, speaking up for the first time. She looked terrified, but Lydia was proud of her for being here with them anyways when she was sure every bone in her body was screaming at her to run away. Lydia would know. Her bones were screaming the same thing.

“We care about him,” Adam mumbled, still looking halfway dead, his actual state of death aide. Barbara was still crouched over him protectively. 

“Do they? Then why haven’t they helped you?”

“Help me? What could they possibly need to help me with?” Beetlejuice stepped away from where he was using the couch as a crutch, raising his blade in clear threat. “You’re losing your touch, you manipulative old wolf.”

“They didn’t help you get back home.”

“I _am_ home. And I don’t _want_ to go back to the Netherworld.”

“Don’t you?”

“I—”

Arlund moved out of the fire and slithered so he and Beetlejuice were a mere foot apart. Lydia clenched her knife in a reflexive motion.

“I can smell that you’re lying. Your pathetic attempts at deceit just serve to betray you as the pup you are. You want to go back home and we both know it. You want Juno to love you again and I can help you with that. And, honestly Betelgoose, they’ll be dead anyways in a few decades. Death is just the natural state of life. You’d just be speeding it along.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Beetlejuice said, looking for all the world like his mind was a thousand worlds away.

“That’s right, dear one. So, what do you say? Five minutes of work and a negligible amount of emotional pain and you can return home and reclaim your station. _And_ your mom’s affection. It’s the best offer you’re ever going to get.”

Lydia waited with bated breath for Beetlejuice to laugh and sneer at him, to thrust his blade into Arlund’s chest, sending him back to the Netherworld, to do _anything_ but just stand there and look like he was considering the offer.

“So do we have a deal?” Arlund extended his arm, fur glistening with Beetlejuice’s blood and clumped from the dust created from their fight.

The world seemed to stop and Beetlejuice looked at the offered hand. Lydia held her breath and felt Charles to the same, his shoulders clenching with tension.

They all stared and waited. An eternity passed in a few seconds. 

Beetlejuice opened his mouth and said…

“Deal.”

 _No_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice: *agrees to Arlund's deal*  
> Lydia, Charles, Delia, Barbara, Adam, Arlund, all of you: *surprised pikachu meme* 
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger everyone! Try not to hate me too much haha


	8. BJ and Arlund go on Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ makes a deal with Arlund and the real fun begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings.

It was a good thing Beetlejuice didn’t need to breathe because he didn’t think the knot in his throat would allow it. The looks of betrayal on everyone’s faces was almost enough to make him bail on this whole thing, but this needed to be done, consequences be damned. And if they all decided they were through with him at the end of it, well, at least they’d be alive to make that decision.

“Deal?” Around echoed, disbelief in his voice.

Beetlejuice nodded and swallowed around the knot. This had to be his most convincing bait and switch yet.

It was showtime.

“Yeah, I want to go home. This was fun and all, but you’re right. I don’t belong here and they’ll all be dead sooner rather than later anyways. Just speeding up the Grim Reaper’s work,” he joked.

Arlund seemed unimpressed, as per usual. He’d been around long enough that very little phased him anymore, though not nearly long enough to develop Juno’s geeral disdain for everyone and everything. She’d been around since before the original demons left to their own part of the Netherworld, when demons still fought in wars and killed each other with no care for how their species would continue.

However none of that mattered right now. Arlund might be as old as shit and twice as powerful, but Beetlejuice was young enough to still be clever and take advantage of people underestimating him.

“Of course, I have some conditions of my own,” he said levelly, keeping his emotions well in check. Beetlejuice hoped his hair wasn’t betraying the fear and anxiety that had their thick tendrils wrapped around him, but he also didn’t think Arlund ever understood the color changes were connected to his mood, even when they were companions of a more intimate nature.

“Naturally,” Arlund said.

“Beej,” Lydia called out, voice small and heavy in a way he hoped he’d never have to hear again.

Beetlejuice did the only thing he could bear to do in that moment and ignored her.

“I want a Contract that guarantees you won’t hurt me after we finish this thing and assurance that you’ll back me up when we take them to Juno.”

“Of course,” Arlund replied, contorting his face into a mimicry of a smile. He summoned a ready-made Contract, placing it on the floor between them. “The agreement is on the last page, as is customary.”

“No,” Beetlejuice said. This was where things became treacherous. He snapped his fingers and summoned an agreement of his own. While not in the habit of making deals like this he did still know how to make them, how to word them in his favor, eliminating that fae-like trickery they were known for and spinning them to his advantage.

Beetlejuice held the papers out to Arlund, who took them with a disgusted expression. 

“I don’t like signing papers that I didn’t draw up myself. I’m sure you understand.”

Putting on an air of nonchalance, Beetlejuice shrugged and sent up a prayer to whoever would listen- God, Satan, Bacchus- he wasn’t picky. “That’s the deal, wolf,” he said with more confidence than was warranted just then.

He was met with a sneer. “I think you forget that you’re making a deal with _me_ , not the other way around.”

“We both have something to gain her,” he pointed out. “I get to go back to Juno with my head held high and _you_ get to be the demon who brought Lawrence Betelgoose Shoggoth to heel, a feat that Juno herself could never pull off. Imagine the rewards that’ll be in store for you once that happens. She might even promote you to a president. No! An earl,” he cooed, coating his words with a sweetness he didn’t feel. After all, you caught more flies with honey. Or, rather, a wolf in this case.

Arlund looked at him consideringly and sifted through the papers. 

“I see no trickery here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Beetlejuice who did his best to look innocent.

“Trickery is for Contracts made with breathers, not with old friends.”

Arlund used a claw to cut the palm of his hand. “We’re not friends. You’re my bitch at best.”

He forced himself to maintain a light air and unclench his fists that had curled up without his permission. Arlund would be his bitch soon enough.

“Beetlejuice!” he heard Lydia call out from behind Charles’s hand muffling her.

He spared a glance at them. Charles held Lydia tight, who was kicking at him trying to escape, while Delia clutched at Charles with a tense expression. They all looked so betrayed. He turned to see the Maitlands. Adam still looked in rough shape but Barbara’s cold fury made him flinch.

It was showtime, he repeated to himself like a mantra. It was showtime, it was showtime, it was showtime. He had to do this and it was almost over.

Arlund let the blood drip onto the page and proffered it to Beetlejuice.

“Your turn.”

“Nah, already signed it.”

Arlund tilted his head in confusion.

“When could you have possibly done that? I’ve been watching you the whole time,” he demanded with a half-growl.

He still didn’t expect any trickery, which gave Beetlejuice the boldness to take the Contract back from Arlund and let the glamor on it drop with a smug expression. He was the cat who got the canary and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

“Oh, I signed it months ago!”

“What?” Arlund echoed, eyes widening as he started connecting the dots.

He heard Charles muttering a similar remark off to the side and made a sweeping gesture to the other occupants of the house.

“In fact,” he announced, “we all signed a few months ago!”

“Give me that,” Arlund half-yelled, snatching the paper back. “House rules?” he read off the page. “What is this?”

“Just what it says on the tin. It's the rules everyone in the house agrees to follow. And now that includes you.” Arlund raised a claws hand in preparation to strike, fury lighting his eyes ablaze.

“Ah ah ah! Wouldn’t want to break the Contract already, would you? Or, actually, on second thought go ahead. Hit me.”

Beetlejuice regretted saying anything, but his mouth had a tendency to run faster than his head most of the time. Arlund could hurt him, sure, and it would break their terms of agreement, sending him on a one-way ticket back to the pits of the Netherworld. It was honestly the ideal solution if Arlund struck out at him. 

After all: Rule one- No harming or threatening harm to others in the household, unless there is an emergency and measures must be taken to protect oneself or others.

It was a good rule, one of the few Beetlejuice legitimately agreed with- because seriously, why did Chuck have to go and ban drugs?- and he bet his last dime that Arlund wouldn’t last much time at all before breaking it. In fact, he would bet his life on that he wouldn’t last more than an hour without breaking at least half of those damned rules.

“You tricked him,” Barbara whispered to herself.

Beetlejuice’s ears perked up and he turned around to face her, clapping his hands together. “Yep! No more ouchies from the big bad wolf today.”

“Holy shit,” Charles said and Lydia finally managed to break free from his hold and rushed over to Beetlejuice, throwing her arms around him and tugging him into a tight hug, still gentle around his broken arm that was genuinely starting to hurt, before releasing him and punching his shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That doesn’t count as harming you, but if you ever pull that shit again then your afterlife will be drastically cut short,” she said, fierce as a honey badger.

They both jumped back at the low growl emanating from their unwelcome guest.

“I think it’s time you went back to the Netherworld,” Lydia said, closing a hand over Beetlejuice's and squeezing it tightly. “Our Contract is still in place and you can’t hurt anyone here anymore.”

“No.”

“No?” Charles echoed as he walked towards them, each step sure and confident, emboldened by the assurance that Arlund couldn’t hurt him or the rest of his family without immediate banishment. “I don’t think you understand. There’s nothing left for you here. You can’t hurt anyone, you can’t do anything that oversteps anyone's boundaries, you can’t even _lie_. You might as well just leave so we can all get back to our lives.”

“No,” Arlund repeated.

“Why not?” Barbara demanded, leaving Adam to Delia, who’d made her way over to the pair during the confusion. He was looking more alert and Beetlejuice expected he’d be back to normal in a few hours. It took a lot to grievously injure a ghost.

Arlund snapped his teeth at her, causing her to jump and raise her bat in the air threateningly.

“Now, dear, you can’t hurt me either thanks to _someone’s_ damned contract,” Arlund drawled, eying Beetlejuice with a cold intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Barbara’s fury was nothing to be trifled with, but she lowered the bat anyways. “But, no, I have no intentions of leaving. And do you know why?” he asked archly.

“Because you’re an awful person?” Beetlejuice guessed at the same time Lydia said, “Because you’re an ass?”

He slammed a hand into the flooring, breaking several of the pieces of hardwood. Barbara eyed it warily.

“Because you are all so _desperate_ for me to leave.”

Charles scoffed, emboldened by the Contract. “So you’re just being petty?”

“And you call me childish,” Beetlejuice muttered.

“You are a child,” Arlund said, his attention wholly focused on Charles. “You’re the patriarch of this… family, yes?”

Holding fast to his nerves, Charles said, “Yes.”

Arlund hummed.

“Interesting.”

“Wha— why?” Charles sputtered.

“No reason,” Arlund said, staring at Charles with deep black eyes, like a pond in winter that even the ducks dare not touch.

“Right. Okay, then.”

“What now?” Delia asked, looking at Arlund warily, voice cracking halfway through.

He laughed, deep and throaty. “Yes. What now?”

“Ugh,” Lydia said, shuffling closer to Beetlejuice, who squeezed her hand in return. She was a brave little spitfire but he could feel her trembling. Today was just about more than she could handle. He was sure of it. “Are you sure you won’t just leave?”

Beetlejuice hummed in agreement. “Yeah. It’s going to be super boring now that you can’t, you know, maim or kill any of us,” he goaded.

“Perhaps not. But you have to have guests at some point, yes? Friends? Mailmen?” Arlund smiled. “You all might be off limits for now, but they aren’t.”

“Ah,” Charles said, eyes wide. “That’s a problem. Beetlejuice?”

“Hmm?” Beetlejuice asked, his general malaise coming forefront to his mind at the moment. He was a bit distracted by the broken mess that his arm had become, re-noticing it after it had been all but forgotten during the shuffle. He could repair it, but it certainly wasn’t his specialty. Honestly, a human doctor would probably do a better job but since that wasn’t an option at the moment…

He let out a pained grunt as he forced the bone back in place, now that they were in a few moments of calm, earning him horrified looks from the rest of the household. They were so squamish. He poked at the arm and judged the bone to be sufficiently in place. It would heal on its own within a couple hours, provided there were no more heavy hits.

Beetlejuice eyed the scene before him. Adam had perked back up, like Beetlejuice had known he would, and Delia was standing next to him with Barbara a few feet off. Charles was pacing in the middle of the destroyed room, chest puffed up like he thought he could intimidate the millennia-old demon in his house. It wasn’t working in the least but Beetlejuice had to give him props for trying. Lydia was still at his side, looking at him with a questioning face.

They all were waiting on what to do, but he had no fucking clue what to do now. Besides, wasn’t this supposed to be a team effort? So far he was pulling the most weight and he didn’t care for it. He ignored Lydia and he tried to think. She could stew in her own guilt for a little longer because his arm hurt like a bitch and this whole situation was a bigger mess than even he could create without help.

She truly had a gift. He loved her and her chaos so much.

Still, he felt fully confident in his abilities to stay angry at her so long as he didn’t look her in the eye. Her sad puppy dog face was deadly and he needed to focus.

They needed to find a way to banish Arlund, but, problem was, he wasn’t connected to the house like the Maitlands and him. He had free range over the whole world at this point, like those chickens that laid the eggs Delia is so fond of. A simple banishment would likely work, but there’d be nothing stopping him from apparting away at the first sign of trouble. And then he’d be back, like a bad penny covered in blood and viscera. Beetlejuice didn’t mind a little light maiming or murder now and again, but everyone else had a firm stance against it, so they’d have to work fast before Arlund could get a chance to strike first.

They’d have to somehow get him into a Devil’s trap in order to properly banish him.

Well, fuck. They’d have an easier time finding and then beating the shit out of God himself. Or an actual fucking unicorn. 

Beetlejuice looked at the mess that used to be the bottom floor of the house, knowing it would be futile to clean it up just then. He didn’t have the energy at the moment, but equally, there was nothing to stop Arlund from destroying it all again in a fit of pique. However, he was sure Delia was over there having a conniption about it— Lydia once had a 24 hour period of being grounded over leaving too many shoes in the entryway before Charles found out and vetoed it.

Still, broken wood and glass was scattered everywhere and it looked like the morning-after of a rave. There were long, narrow holes in the flooring from where Arlund had gouged deep holes in it and broken the pieces when he was having fun throwing Beetlejuice around like a ragdoll. The TV was shattered and all of Delia’s potted plants were in ruins. Even Charles’ coveted remote was snapped in two. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, a massive mess.

That was a tomorrow problem though, because today’s problem was the wolf taking residence in their house, looking for all the world like he had nothing better to do than stand there and be intimidating.

“Beej?” Charles asked, sounding slightly irritated.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“What do we do now?”

“Yes, what now?” Arlund cooed, all vicious mockery now that niceties wouldn’t benefit him.

Beetlejuice summoned a broom and threw it at Charles with his good hand.

“Now we clean.” Cleaning was futile, of course, but it’d keep them busy while he tried to think.

Charles passed the broom over to Lydia who took it with a vaguely disgusted look. Like just yesterday she hadn’t found Beetlejuice’s pile of cockroach wings he left on her desk ‘super cool’ and taken a thousand pictures of it. He never failed to be amused by the thresholds for what grossed her out.

“What about Adam?” Barbara asked.

Beetlejuice scrutinized the half-conscious ghost. There was a blood wound on his head, but it appeared to Beetlejuice to be his death-wound, reappearing since Adam wasn’t in any shape to will it away. He couldn’t see any physical signs of damage, but his eyes were glazed over like he had a concussion. Could ghosts even get concussions?

“What happened to him?”

“ _He_ did,” Barbara snarled, pointing her bat at Arlund, who snickered.

“I electrocuted him,” Arlund said, wiggling his claws. “Don’t worry, little ghostie. He should be fine in a couple hours.”

“Beej?” Barbara asked.

He nodded in confirmation and she looked slightly mollified at that. That sounded accurate, but there was nothing he could do if it wasn’t. He hoped it was true. It was possible Arlund was lying, but the rules _did_ state ‘no malicious lying.’ It was also possible Arlund wouldn’t find a lie like that malicious. The house rules really did leave too much up to interpretation. It was a sham of a true Contract and any proper demon would exploit that for all it was worth.

A proper demon like Arlund. 

“Babs? Why don’t you take Adam upstairs and let him rest? Keep an eye on him.”

“I— are you sure? You don’t need or, or want help dealing with… this?”

They were both better off as far away from here as they could get. “Nah, we got it covered. Take care of our man.” He wasn’t really _their_ man and normally he’d be kicking himself over the freudian slip, but, unfortunately for him, there were bigger concerns at the moment.

Barbara looked at him thoughtfully, eyes drawn in worry and another emotion he couldn’t identify. Fondness, perhaps? She and Adam both got it on their stupid faces when looking at him nowadays and he didn’t care for the mystery of it all, but he didn’t think it was anything bad, which was odd to realize, the knowledge that he trusted them enough not to dig his nails in and snap his fangs at everyone until he found out what they were hiding from him.

It almost made him feel bad for manipulating her out of the action like this, but not bad enough that he stopped her as she gingerly guided Adam upstairs. Besides, they’d both feel better if Barbara could mother hen Adam in peace as Adam rested on a comfortable bed instead of the harsh floor.

Delia walked halfway with them before stopping next to Charles and gripping his arm. She didn’t look so hot herself. At least Arlund seemed content enough to let them all stew in fear for the moment. He was likely taking the time to come up with a plan to worm his way out of the Contract, which just reinforced that time was of the essence.

He didn’t normally consider time when going about his day-to-day life. Eternity was long and it left demons and ghosts alike with a universal lack of urgency. They all had eternity to accomplish whatever they wanted to get done so there was no need to rush or fret over minor delays or hurdles.

The steady thrum pulsing through his veins that told him that he needed to _move fast, every second you and your family are in more danger_ was as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome.

“Do you seriously just expect us to clean up after all of that?” Lydia demanded, glaring at him with her full teenage fury. 

Beetlejuice shrugged. “I personally love the new look. I just thought Deborah might take issue with some of the new design decor?” Delia didn’t answer. “Right, Donnie?” he prompted again.

Delia jerked out of her thoughts, looking once-again startled by everything going on around her. “What?”

He flicked his ears down as Charles leaned in to whisper something to Delia, trying to give them as much privacy as possible. Glancing at Lydia, he noticed her giving him an odd look.

“What?” he hissed at her.

She snorted and poked at him with the end of the broom. “You look like a discount Legolas.”

“The fuck are you talking about, moron?”

“You’re the moron, moron.”

“Says the moron who— hmm,” he cut himself off with a low growl. She was indeed the moron who summoned a bloodthirsty demon into their house, but, upon further thought, it was the second time she’d done something like this so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. He did hope she learned her lesson about summoning demons of unknown natures into her house, even if it worked out for everyone the go round.

Actually, no, it didn’t, he thought. His own first appearance was a shitshow as well. He really needed to confiscate her summoning privileges after all this was over.

Beetlejuice eyed Arlund, who was intently listening in on Charles and Delia’s hushed conversation and felt the familiar tug of a guide. Nearby too.

His eyes widened as an idea struck him, an idea so stupid that it might actually work. Genius plans were always dumb in ways that were impossible to notice under the sheer complexity of the operation, but dumb plans were simple, clean, with a clear transition from Point A to Point B and little room of fuck it up. A flicker of a smile flashed across his face and he forced it down. He had to keep his cards close for this one.

“I don’t know what a Legolas is, but listen to me,” he said with uncharacteristic intensity. Lydia looked at him warily. “As soon as we leave I need you to draw another summoning circle. Wait, _no_. Paint one if you can. Harder to get rid of or accidentally destroy. Paint the same one you did to get him here and just as soon as you’re done I need you to summon him.”

“What? Why? He’s already here?’” Lydia asked, matching his hushed and urgent tone.

Beetlejuice was about to tell her that it didn’t matter when they heard the floor creak as Arlund moved. “What are you two whispering about over there?” he demanded.

“Go on, sweetie. We have this handled,” Charles whispered and Delia hurried upstairs, face white as a sheet. Beetlejuice spared a hope that she was joining Barbara and Adam. Babs would know what to do with the overly spooked human.

He resisted the urge to snarl at Arlund. Scaring breathers was all well and good, but traumatizing them wasn’t fun for anyone. Traumatized breathers didn’t give those wonderful screams that he lived for or scurry away like ants when they saw his face. They just rocked in corners or screamed at nothing or got that haunted look in their eyes like Delia did and then stop responding to anything.

Glaring at Arlund, he stately blandly, “I was just telling Lyds that I have a guide and will have to rejoin you lovely people later.”

Lydia had introduced him to reverse psychology a few weeks back, something he was chuffed to learn he’d unintentionally employed over the centuries, but he was going to use it on purpose for the first time today.

“Charles, you have this handled?”

Charles looked like a deer in the headlights. “What? No! You can’t just leave use here alone!”

“Arlund, Arlund, Arlund,” Beetlejuice said, a mockery of the curse used to summon him. “Old pal, I’ll be back soon. _Don’t_ follow me. I want this to be a quick guide and snappy and you’re a little too demon-y looking for the average Newly Dead. They’ll get the wrong impression about the Netherworld.

“Or maybe the right one,” Lydia muttered.

Beetlejuice bopped her upside the head as he felt a sharp tug in his chest that said his guide was passing on in the next few seconds or so.

Suddenly, everyone’s head jerked up as they all heard the tell-tale screeching of car tires and a sickening crush of metal hitting metal. The sharp tug turned into the pull of a fish hook, unrelenting and jagged.

This was his closed guide to home yet, just down the street. You can’t beat that commute.

“Was that—” Charles started.

“Yep.” Beetlejuice said.

“Don’t follow me,” he repeated with a pointed look to Arlund as he walked towards the door. Lydia trailed behind him.

Arlund shifted again, rearing back and looking down at him with a sneer. “I think you forget that your ranking is little more than a title. _You_ of all creatures do not tell me what to do. Besides,” he said, saliva dripping out of his beaked maul, “you cheated me out of a meal and I refuse to go without.”

Beetlejuice half-jumped as Arlund disappeared without warning. Was this how everyone else felt when he apparated in and out of rooms? He took a deep breath and turned to the two remaining breathers. They were both ruffled-looking with matching faces of unease. He didn’t blame them one bit, but they didn’t have time for that shit just then. They had to move quickly.

“Remember what I said, Lyds?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No time.”

“Beetle—”

“Charles, help her.”

“With w—”

“No time. I have to go,” he said and raised a hand to snap and apparate away before hesitating. “It’ll all be alright, I promise, but you have to trust me for right now. Besides,” he smirked, “it’s still showtime.”

Beetlejuice appeared down the street and was immediately struck by the sight of a car so horribly mangled that it could hardly be called a car at all. The man inside the car was, of course, deceased and Beetlejuice saw him standing off to the side of the wreckage with a blank expression. He didn’t seem to notice the demon pawing through the wreckage with a single-minded intensity.

“Hey pal,” Beetlejuice called out. The man didn’t respond and Beetlejuice frowned slightly. It was never a good sign when the Newly Dead wasn’t responsive, but if he stayed that way then at least he’d be easy enough to push through the door to the Netherworld.

He half-flinched, ears pressing against the side of his head as Arlund ripped a chunk of metal off of the car, creating a screeching noise like nails on a chalkboard combined with an owl on crack. The Newly Dead fully flinched. Not so unresponsive after all. That was a good sign.

Walking up to the Newly Dead, Beetlejuice had the opportunity to examine him. Blood dripped off of him in thin rivulets and most of the upper half of his body was deformed, bones sticking out at odd angles and crushed in where they shouldn’t be. He didn’t envy this poor fucker’s unaliving one bit.

“Hey pal,” Beetlejuice repeated, louder this time. The Newly Dead looked at him with a vacant expression that screamed of shock.

He sputtered something unintelligible.

“Yeah, you had a pretty rough send off there. But, fortunately, the ghost with the most is here to help you out,” he said with false pep, shoving the customary tote bag at the Newly Dead, who took it without seeming to register what he was doing.

Beetlejuice snapped in front of his face. No reaction.

He spared a glance at Arlund who had pulled the corpse out of the car, a brutalized mess of blood and bone. The air filled with the smell of meat and death, a smell that was comfortable in its familiarity, but he was all the more glad that Lydia wasn’t here.

Grabbing the piece of chalk out of the tote, ignoring the walking corpse holding it, Beetlejuice drew a doorway onto the back of the car, which was still somehow flat enough to mark up. It was the only part of the car that looked undamaged.

Green smoke filled the air as the doorway appeared and Beetlejuice was pleased to hear coughing coming from the Newly Dead as he snatched the paperwork out of the air that had just shot out of the doorway. Coughing meant he was coming to.

The paperwork claimed his name to be James Wright, aged 59. Not too old, but not young enough that Beetlejuice felt remotely bad about guiding him over. Plenty of people passed on at far younger ages.

The deceased— James, he reminded himself, made a strangled noise as a crunch filled the air and Beetlejuice looked up from the paperwork to see Arlund had detached the right leg from the body and had snapped it in two, tearing meat off of the bone and eating it.

“Do you have to do that while the Newly Dead is _right here_ ,” he asked, vaguely disgusted.

Arlund glared, but didn’t deign to grace him with a response. He always was a bit of a brute where food was concerned. A true wolf through and through. 

With a sigh, Beetlejuice turned to James. “Time to go, bud. Through the door, in you go!” he said with a gesture to the doorway.

James looked at him, signs of awareness beginning to flicker on his face. 

“Am… am I dead?”

“Obviously,” Arlund snarled, tearing off another large piece of meat and swallowing it down.

Beetlejuice glared, an expression which remained unseen as Arlund had his back to him “‘Fraid so,” he said to the ghost.

There was a beat of silence.

“That it? ‘Kay, let’s go.” The Newly Dead didn’t respond and so Beetlejuice walked over and took his arm and tugged him closer, James following but still staring at his body, which had Arlund hunched over it like a starved hyena.

They were at the cusp of the door when James took a half-step back, not hard enough to dislodge Beetlejuice’s grip, but sudden enough to stop him short.

He was still staring at the body and Beetlejuice made a frustrated noise.

“Can you stop that until I can get James here on the other side? Then you can have a free for all, but it’s freaking him out,” he said, frustration clear in his voice.

Arlund harrumphed and snapped another bone like a twig just to spite him.

“Is that me?” James asked, quiet enough that Beetlejuice could hardly hear him.

“Obviously,” Arlund said with a smug tone.

“Is,” he hesitated. “Is this the afterlife then?”

“It is indeed,” Beetlejuice said in his best tour-guide voice. “Just as soon as you step through that doorway and read the book you have there in your tote there, then you’ll be all set to start your brand new afterlife.”

The mood was beyond saving, but Beetlejuice was still hoping to avoid a meltdown or runaway. He glanced back at the Maitland-Deetz house. How long had it been? Had they finished making the circles yet? It probably hadn’t been long enough, but each second this guide went on was a unique torture in and of itself.

James was looking at the tote like he’d never seen it before, which was entirely possible. Newly Deads rarely remember the immediate aftermath of their passing and James was more out of it than most.

“Is this hell?”

Beetlejuice cocked a head at him. He hadn’t even seen the Netherworld yet so how’d the hell he come to that conclusion?

“Not really,” he said finally. The Netherworld could be equated to hell, but at the end of the day it wasn’t the flaming inferno of misery most people thought of when they said hell, even if it was full of cruelties breathers couldn’t imagine and devoid of people who cared about your suffering. It wasn’t without its positive qualities, but those were still few and far between when compared to pre-death in the Upperworld.

“That animal is eating my body,” James said, voice monotone and stare vacant.

Arlund reeled around, snarling, blood and viscera dripping out of his mouth. “I am _not_ an animal, you worthless creature.”

James made a strangled noise and stumbled backwards. “Sorry,” he squeaked. “Sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me. Or, or, or eat me. Or, agh! I don’t know. Please don’t hurt me.”

For fuck’s sake. This was the most the poor ghost had said yet and it was begging for his undead life.

Beetlejuice hoped Lydia was close to finishing the circle because the Newly Dead was going to be traumatized for the next several millennia if he didn’t pass on now. Beetlejuice grabbed his arms and full-body shoved the unresisting ghost through the doorway. He didn’t even have enough time to startle before he was through the doorway. Quickly signing the paperwork, Beetlejuice threw it through the doorway as well.

He saw Arlund still glaring at him with a murderous expression.

“You sure you don’t wanna pass on too? Door’s already open,” he asked mockingly.

Heaven and hell forbid something in his life be easy for once because Arlund turned back to the corpse and tore another limb off. Rude bastard. Beetlejuice shut the door and stood awkwardly off to the side. 

The whole eating the Newly Dead’s body thing might not be how he expected the guide to go, but it was giving them valuable time to load the trap back at the house. Beetlejuice sniffed at the air. He hadn’t eaten raw meat in years and found himself missing it, but here and now wasn’t the time for that so he turned sharply away and looked at the road.

It was empty, which wasn’t typical for this street, but this wasn’t a typical day and, besides, he didn’t know how people would react if they saw the scene before them so it was probably for the better. The less complications the better.

Long minutes passed as Beetlejuice stewed in his thoughts, worries over what was going to happen and if everyone was okay and if his plan would even work raced through his mind like a hamster wheel. At last, Arlund appeared sated, the body little more than a scrap of clothing and cleaned bones at this point.

Arlund licked at the blood on his beak. “Not as good as a child, but still decent,” he said.

“Gross,” Beetlejuice said, not especially meaning it. Meat was meat and he didn’t much care about the distinction between cow or chicken or human, so long as Arlund wasn’t threatening any of _his_ humans. Or any of the humans in the town, for that matter. They were his too and no one but him was allowed to mess with them.

He frowned slightly at the possessive line of thinking. It wasn’t normal for him to lay claim to a town like that. The family sure, but he was hardly connected to the town beyond having taken up residence here. He shoved the thoughts away for later and inspected his arm, which was more healed than not at the moment.

Arlund hummed. “You don’t mean that, but let’s ignore that for a moment.”

“In favor of what?” Beetlejuice half-snapped, feeling the tips of his hair turn red, and even Arlund, emotionally dense as he was, couldn’t miss his clear anger and frustration.

“Calm that temper of yours, Betelgoose. It’ll do you no good.”

Beetlejuice hummed. “We should get rid of the car and remains before some breather decides to investigate.”

“Why bother? It’s not like they can link it back to us.”

He shrugged and focused on the wreckage, refusing to look at him. “Still, it’ll be a hassle. Too much attention.”

“You like attention. It’s practically the only thing that drives you in life.”

Beetlejuice closed his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands against the car, willing the wreckage to disappear, preferably to the middle of the ocean where he’d never have to think about it again. With a sudden jolt and a sharp pop, the car was gone. He snapped at the rest of the scene was clear too, leaving only the skid marks on the road. He wasn’t entirely sure where it ended up but he couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment.

It looked like nothing had happened at all. The family would likely prefer the mystery to the truth in this case.

“Except you’re not the same needy attention-whore you were, are you?”

Beetlejuice ignored him and made the mistake of glancing at the direction of the house and Arlund made a noise of understanding. Juno always said he needed to hide his tells better and he wished desperately he’d listened to her lessons with more attentiveness.

“Ahh, you’re really, genuinely attached to them, aren’t you? You think that they care about you!” Arlund’s laugh was vicious and mocking, making Beetlejuice flush and a pit appear in his stomach. “You really think they want you there? Ha! As soon as you’ve outlived your usefulness then rest assured you’re gone. They’ll banish— no, _exorcise_ you the first time you fuck up. And we both know you’ll fuck up sooner than later.”

“That’s not true,” Beetlejuice whispered, despite the familiar anxiety telling him that it was. That it was all another trick just so they could rip his heart in two before sending him back to Juno. But he knew deep down Arlund was spewing nothing but bullshit. They cared about him more than anyone else ever had. They listened to him. They took him into consideration when doing anything from buying groceries to what to watch on TV to not playing Scrabble on game night. They invited him into their lives and made room for him to fit, as jagged a puzzle piece as he was. Even ignoring the certainty he felt in his unbeaten heart that they all cared about him, no one put in that much effort for a bait and switch. 

Besides, he’d already fucked up plenty and while there were lectures and Lydia’s educational PowerPoints that he actually enjoyed (human culture was fascinating at times), they’d yet to invoke any actual consequences for his mistakes, anything that would signal true anger. Lydia wouldn’t be bothering to teach him how to live in this brave new world of his if she didn’t plan on him sticking around for a while.

Arlund was wrong. They wanted him there, for reasons he didn’t fully understand, but that was okay. It was enough that they did. And he wanted to be here too.

“You’re wrong,” he said, voice clear and firm in its certainty.

“Excuse you? Your own mother doesn’t even want you, pathetic whelp that you are. She sent you up here to learn a lesson but you were stupid enough to fall in love with a bunch of humans who think you’re just a show pony to amuse them. But you’re good for a show, aren’t you? It’s why you threw me, threw _Juno_ over for them. They stroke that broken part of you that craves attention, even as you know you don’t deserve it.”

Beetlejuice felt his hair turn bright red and he forced down furious tears, cheeks burning in shame. He wasn’t wrong about that part- he did want more attention than anyone ever wanted to give him. “ _Shut up_. You don’t know fuck-all you miserable piece of shit.”

“Eloquent as always, little prince,” Arlund mocked. “No wonder your own mother doesn’t even want you.”

“Shut up,” he repeated, unable to argue the statement. It was true and everyone, even him, knew it at this point.

He knew, though, that if he didn’t have Lydia and the rest of them he’d have gone crawling back to her without a second thought, debasing himself like a snake crawling in the dust in a desperate attempt for even a scrap of attention or affection.

It never worked and he had people who loved and cared about him now. People who didn’t make him work for kind words or hugs or validation that they wanted him there.

“Am I wrong?” Arlund said.

Arlund was full of shit.

“No,” he said, swallowing down the wall of words that wanted to erupt.

“Exactly,” he said, crowing like someone who’s already won.

He wore a smug expression that Beetlejuice would like nothing more than to punch off, but he didn’t fancy a one-way trip back to the Netherworld. Fortunately for his self-control, in that moment Arlund’s infuriating smirk dropped and he leaned forward sharply, digging his claws into the asphalt.

Beetlejuice felt a tinge of green come back to his hair as he quirked a smile. Lydia had done it.

“Something wrong?”

Arlund snarled and reeled a hand back in preparation to gouge Beetlejuice’s face, but the strike never landed as he disappeared like he was never there to begin with.

Beetlejuice apparated himself to the living room, appearing to the welcome sight of Arlund thoroughly trapped in the middle of an elaborate summoning circle (really, it was a bit overkill- what chapter of the _Ars Goetia_ was Lydia even looking at?) with the rest of the household gathered around him and they all looked _pissed._ It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he once got to eat an albino cockroach.

Lydia and Charles stood there for several long moments after Arlund and Beetlejuice left. Because apparently there were now two resident demons in their house. But, hopefully not for much longer, Lydia thought. She didn’t know what the plan was but Beetlejuice apparently had one and that was enough for just then.

Charles breathed in slowly and released his breath with the same intensity. He nodded once and turned to Lydia.

“What did Beetlejuice say to you?” he asked, all professional businessman in that moment. Emotions could be dealt with later when they weren’t one misstep away from death.

“Do you know where we have paint?”

Charles nodded, face dawn in confusion.

“We need to get it and start drawing a Devil’s trap.”

“Why? I mean, I know where the paint is. But what are summoning circles going to do? He’s already here.”

“I don’t—” She started before cutting herself short with a noise of understanding. It didn’t matter that he was already here because they could still summon him no matter where he was and that meant.... “If we summon him then he’ll be trapped in the circle, like he was when he first got here.”

Before she stupidly released him with as little thought as she put into her math homework. Namely, none. Math was not her forte and she also failed to see the logistics of how this whole situation would work out.

Charles’s eyes widened in comprehension. “I’ll go get the paint,” he said.

He headed towards the basement and Lydia looked around at their trashed living room. There was no way she could clear this in time if she also had to draw the circle from before, especially since there was no telling how long Beetlejuice could keep Arlund away.

She ran up the stairs and made a side-trip to her room to scoop up the _Ars Goetia_ , sparing half a second to flip it off in a moment of peak pettiness, and the candles and lighter. Not bothering to knock, Lydia flung open the Maitland’s door.

The three of them, Delia, Barbara, and Adam, were all curled up on the bed, Adam in the middle with her ghost-mom and step-mom bracketing him on either side. He looked up as she entered, which was a marked improvement over a few minutes ago. Even Delia had some more color to her face.

“Lydia?” Barbara asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I need all of you to help me clear a space downstairs. I don’t have time to explain but it’s important and we need to get this done, like, yesterday.”

“I… I can, but… Adam?”

“I’m feeling better now, Barb,” Adam said, voice weak but clear. “We need to go help her.”

“Are you sure Adam? You can stay up here and you rest?”

Adam shook his head violently. “No, I’m not just going to sit here while you’re all tormenting by that… by that monster!”

Barbara didn’t look convinced. “He hurt you pretty bad. No one would blame you for taking a breather.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I took a breather though the whole thing already,” he said mulishly.

“You were hurt. That’s hardly resting,” Delia scolded.

Lydia loved all of them and how much they cared about each other but they literally did not have time for this shit and she told them so, provoking triplet expressions of chagrin.

“We’re all going,” Adam said, gently pushing Barbara to the side and getting off the bed. Barbara begrudgingly acquiesced and held onto his hand tightly and they stood up.

Giving them a quick explanation of what they were doing as they hurried down the stairs, they arrived to see Charles with a bucket of pain and an expression of hesitant triumph.

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

Charles and Delia pushed large chunks of debris out of the way while Adam cleared some of the finer pieces from the floor and Barbara swept up so they’d have a clear area to paint. Within a minute they had enough space for Lydia to get to work.

“Wow,” Adam said. “That was fast.”

“Well, like my guru Otho always said, ‘Teamwork makes the dream work!’” Delia chirped, looking bolstered by the semblance of order.

Lydia opened the book to the correct page and began gingerly copying the markings, moving her arm wide sweeping motions to create the outline of the circle before moving to the more intricate details.

“I’m pretty sure more people than Otho have said that, dear.” Charles said.

She looked at the ground. “Oh.”

“It’s still a good saying,” Barbara said.

“Exactly,” Adam said. “Besides, we like to hear what Delia has to say, not Otho.”

“He was a bit of a crackpot anyways, wasn’t he?” Delia said with a small half-smile.

“A bit,” Adam said, returning her gentle smile.

Charles gingerly took Delia’s hand in his own. “Whatever happened to him anyways?” he asked, almost to himself.

“Does it matter?” Lydia growled out. “I need to focus.” These symbols were difficult in their unfamiliarity, each line and curve needed to be checked and double checked as their time continued sifting away.

“Ah, right. Sorry, dear,” he said.” What can we do to help?”

“One of you light the candles please.”

“Got it,” Barbara said, scooping them up and heading to the kitchen.

Lydia finished the top symbol, Arlund’s name. It was a circle that looked similar to a compass with the letters A, M, N, and O where the directions should have been. In the direct center was a double-headed compass point with curling ends laid over a rectangle whose short ends were comprised of three round bumps that each held an ‘S’ shape. She had no idea what any of the symbology meant, but spared a thought that he might like to ask Beetlejuice about it later.

“Do we have more paintbrushes?” she asked.

“I have some in with my craft supplies!” Delia exclaimed, perking up again, and rushing to presumably retrieve the brushes.

She appeared back a moment later with a small packet of them, all unused. Her painting phase hadn’t lasted long. Barbara returned with Adam a second behind her, holding the lit candles.

“Delia, can you draw that symbol right there?” She directed, gesturing at the symbol for ‘king’ and one of the pentagram’s points. “Barbara, draw that symbol there. And Dad, this one right there. Adam, draw these inner ones here between the points. I’ll draw the last sigil.” It was the symbol for prince and made Lydia think of Beetlejuice, hoping he was faring well on his guide with his plus one.

They worked steadily, but precisely, each symbol replicated to the best of their abilities. They all stepped back once they were finished and Lydia placed the candles on each of the star’s points.

“Is the paint too wet?” Adam asked. “What if he arrives and it smears?”

“I don’t think Arlund himself can break the trap,” Lydia said, unsure. “He didn’t break the one in chalk even though he was moving all over it.”

“We’re probably fine then,” Charles said. “Let’s hurry up and summon him before he comes back on his own and decides to break the Contract.”

“But wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Delia asked. “Beetlejuice said breaking a Contract would send the demon who signed it straight back to the Netherworld.”

“Yeah,” Lydia said, pulling up her picture of the summoning spell from _The Handbook for the Recently Deceased_ as Barbara looked over her shoulder “But you all saw how fast he is. What are the odds that he could kill at least one of us before being sent back? We don’t know how quickly the banishing part of it works.”

“Oh,” Barbara said. “I hadn’t thought of that. I thought we were somewhat protected after the whole thing turning the house rules into a Contract.”

Lydia didn’t think it was a good time to mention that they’d been a Contract the whole time.

“Same here,” Delia said with a frown.

“Do you think he’s hurt Beetlejuice then? They’ve been gone a long time. What if Arlund killed him and then was sent back to the Netherworld and we’d just never know?” Adam said, worrying at his lips with his teeth.

Charles placed a hand on Adam and Delia’s shoulders. “That’s why we worked fast. We still have time and Beej can take care of himself.” 

“He shouldn’t have to though,” Adam mumbled and Lydia silently agreed. This was her fault they were in this mess and she’d never forgive herself if Beetlejuice continued to be hurt over it. She shoved down the queasy feeling that rose up as she remembered his broken arm and the few minutes she genuinely believed that he had and would betray them. He’d earned more trust than that.

Charles gestured at Lydia. “Are you ready?”

She nodded slowly. As ready as she’d ever be. Worries raced through her mind, one after another like tumbling dominos. What if it didn’t work? What if he could get out of the trap? What if he didn’t show up at all? What if he’d already hurt Beej? What if he hurt everyone else? Adam and Beetlejuice were already injured and Delia looked like she’d need as much therapy as Lydia did. Her dad appeared fine on the surface but she could tell he was stressed. That one vein was popping out on his temple. It looked like a gross little worm.

She eyed the door warily, hoping to see Beetlejuice strut in without a care in the world, grinning wide and hair bright green, with none of the murky red or orange she’d seen it today. He didn’t have a color for pain, but she’d be able to tell he was without it anyways.

Lydia put in her password again, having let the phone go back to sleep in her hesitance. Words came out weak and quiet as she started the summoning before rising in strength and tempo as she continued, feeling their power racing through them. She was but the next domino in a long chain of people who’d used this spell, whether it was for power or greed or for good, and she could feel something pull in her chest, something connecting her and everyone before and after her who would use this spell. It was exhilarating.

She ended in a crescendo and could hear gasps of breath around her as Arlund appeared mere feet from them, curled back in anger and letting out an inhuman screech.

“What have you done!” he snarled, and swiped at the edges of the circle, wet paint unmoving from his desperate clawing. “Let me go before I rip you all to pieces. I’ll tear your intestines out your little flesh bags and use them to strangle each of you to each. And _you_ ,” he screeched at Lydia, all traces of prior poise and calmness gone, “I’ll save for last. You can watch your family die one by one in agony.”

All previous traces of his poise and saccharine words were long gone. What was left was his true self.

Lydia felt Charles behind her, his firm and supporting presence. She looked up at him and felt comforted by her furious expression, allowing herself the child-like comfort of believing beyond a shadow of a doubt that her dad would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let her get hurt no matter what happened.

“Stop talking,” he said, all calmness and steel. “You do _not_ speak to her that way.”

“I’ll speak to her however I wish,” Arlund hissed.

Charles was about to respond when he was cut off.

“Lyds!” She jolted as she heard a familiar voice appear. Beetlejuice! He looked perfectly okay, as alive as he ever was with no clearly visible wounds. That was one weight off of her shoulders.

“Beej!” Adam exclaimed.

“A-dog!”

Beetlejuice laughed, loud and bright and blessedly unworried. He looked cocky in a way that meant he knew he’d won. He wore the same look after setting up a particularly devilish prank.

“ _You_ .” Arlund hissed. “This is _your_ doing, you manipulative little snake.”

“A-yup,” he said with a smug grin.

“Sexy, Babs? You got your handbook?”

“Yes?”

“It’s upstairs.”

Beetlejuice snapped and the book appeared in his hands. He flipped until finding a page and making an _ah ha_ noise.

“You’re goners now, old wolf.”

Arlund hummed and looked deeply unimpressed. “An exorcism? That’s beneath even you.”

“An exorcism?” Barbara exclaimed. “You’re going to kill him? I mean, not that I blame you, but…”

Beetlejuice leveled a faux stern look at her. “‘Course not, Babs. I know how all y’all around here are about murder.” He glared at Arlund. “I’m going to banish you.”

Arlund laughed, low and mocking before turning into a harsh cackling. He looked like the cat who got the canary. What the fuck? She glanced at Beetlejuice, who looked equally disturbed.

“No you aren’t, Beetlejuice.”

“Calling me by my real name? Bit rude, even for an asshole like you.”

The wolf demon’s body language screamed victory and Lydia stepped back, pressing firmly into Charles, who held her and Delia tight against him.

“Beetlejuice,” he repeated.

Beej’s confidence fell as quickly as a whore’s dress when money was on the line, leaving behind a look of horror. Lydia’s mind reeled as she tried to understand what was happening. Too much was happening too quickly.

“Beej?” Barbara asked, voice quivering as she clutched Adam.

“ _No_! Lyds, take this,” he exclaimed, shoving the book at her.

“Beetlejuice!” Arlund finished the triad and Lydia was horrified to see Beetlejuice appear alongside Arlund in the summoning circle.

His hair was a sickly white, a color she’d never seen on him before but could guess all too well what it meant. He was afraid, terrified in a way that mimicked her own horror, and she couldn’t blame him one bit.

What did they do now?

Beetlejuice kicked at the edge’s of the circle, foot refusing to cross over the threshold. He frowned down at the sigils on the floor, brows creased and eyes desperately darting back and forth.

“Went a little overkill on the circle, eh Lyds?” he joked weakly, but it fell flat.

Arlund hovered over Beetlejuice, pressing him against the edge of the trap, letting saliva drip down on him. “Built strong enough to trap even a little prince like you, Betelgoose,” he agreed.

“Oh? _Now_ you’re back to calling me back the polite name, _Aamon.”_

His fist hit the invisible wall that surrounded the wall, making Beetlejuice flinch. “Don’t call me that.”

She never wanted to murder someone more than this horrible creature that dared call itself a person and Lydia could tell everyone else was feeling the same. All the same, she had no idea what to do now.

“Don’t you talk to him like that!” Barbara yelled as Adam tugged her back from where she tried to approach the circle.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he sneered.

“Lyds,” Beetlejuice said.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling traitorous tears fill her eyes. This was a nightmare, a living waking nightmare that the bright dawn of day couldn’t save her from.

“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” he said soothingly, but his shock of white hair betrayed him. This was the furthest thing from okay.

“Look at me,” he said and Lydia met his eyes. “You have the book. I need you to say the banishing spell I have open in it.”

Lydia looked at her dad and was alarmed to see he looked genuinely worried, genuinely afraid. It was the first time today he looked like that. “Won’t that banish you too, Mr. Juice?”

Beetlejuice sniggered at the old joke, which Lydia thought might have been her Dad’s goal, especially since they found out already that his last name was Shoggoth, a name straight out of a Lovecraftian novel. It suited him.

“Yes,” Arlund hissed, pinning Beetlejuice to the side of the trap. “ _Won’t that banish you too, little snake?_ ”

She could see Beetlejuice swallowed as he reached up to grab at Arlund’s hand, who was holding him by the throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, and thereby break the Contract, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t accidentally slit his own jugular on Arlund’s claws if he struggled too much.

He looked at her pleadingly and it was all she could do not to cry. Her therapist was going to have a field day after all this.

She looked at the book and sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that he’d be okay, that he’d appear safe and sound in the Netherworld, that Juno wouldn’t notice him there, and that he was back home within a day, within an hour even.

“No!” Arlund snarled as she began.

The spell was short, hardly three lines. A little thing tucked into between instructions on how to summon a bio-exorcist and how to get rid of ghost maggots. Something that could cause her and her family so much heartbreak seemed like it should be on a page of its own, embossed and covered in swirling gold lettering complete with smoke that appeared when the page was opened.

She spoke the last word and the demons were gone, banished to whatever horrors the Netherworld had to offer.

Lydia fell to her knees, tears streaming down as she heard similar sobs from around her. She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see who was sharing in and invading her grief.

“He’ll be back,” Charles said, voice warbling. “That’s a promise.”

Lydia felt the book drop out of her grasp and felt the numb knowledge creep into her mind that he had no way of guaranteeing that. None of them did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of demons eating dead humans, brief dissociation of minor ghost character
> 
> Once again, I'm very sorry for the end/cliffhanger but I hope you enjoyed this chapter all the same!


	9. Family Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara and Adam take a trip to the Netherworld and meet some old friends.

It had been two weeks since Beetlejuice and Arlund were banished and Barbara was genuinely worried. She’d been somewhat worried all along of course, but the gnawing feeling in her gut had been steadily growing until now, when she could no longer stand it. She’d busied herself fretting over Adam and the rest of the family, but Adam had been her main concern.

He’d seemed completely fine after a day or so, but she hovered anyways and was aware enough to realize she was transferring her worries and concerns over Beetlejuice’s wellbeing onto a more readily available person. That didn’t mean her mother-henning was unjustified, she reminded herself and Adam frequently as he batted her off when she became a tad too smothering. 

In those cases she’d moved on to Lydia, who was slightly more receptive to the light smothering and could do with an extra dose of mothering. Her guilt was eating her alive in a way that was obvious to everyone in the house and it was only getting worse each day Beetlejuice didn’t come back. She hoped desperately that Lydia’s therapist was helping and Lydia was as open as she could be about the situation with her. She’d only had two sessions since that day, but Barbara still found herself frustrated that therapy didn’t make everything better overnight.

She knew it was an unreasonable expectation, but that didn’t stop the mother bear in her from wanting Lydia to feel better immediately. It didn’t help matters that she felt useless to assuage Lydia’s guilt herself. No amount of comforting or cajoling or gentle reminders could touch her firm belief that everything that happened was her fault and her fault alone.

Barbara would never admit to her more uncharitable thoughts that placed the blame on Lydia's hands, but they never lasted long. Even if Lydia made mistakes of her own, mistakes that she was sure Lydia would never repeat, the blame rested solely on Arlund who took advantage of the situation and ensured that it would end in disaster. Lydia’s intentions were good, even if she went about them the wrong way.

Still, Adam appeared to have completely recovered from the fight and was battling to remain hopeful as well, despite his regret over being ‘useless’ in the fight. Delia’s guilt was overflowing, much like Lydia’s, as she beat herself up over not helping much in the fight. Charles was trying his best to convince her that she did everything she could and being afraid was a perfectly normal and acceptable response to a literal demon showing up, but Delia wouldn’t hear it, reverting back to her go-to response of forced happiness and refusal to admit anything was wrong. Barbara did her best to help but the house’s atmosphere was oppressive as they all fought their own private hells and guilts.

Barbara wasn’t innocent when it came to misplaced guilt either. She kept thinking what if she had just done this instead or not done that? She tried to remind herself that it wasn’t her fault, it was Arlund’s, that she had done her best, but some thoughts just couldn’t be beaten away with logic.

All that aside, it had been two weeks and enough was enough. They were getting Beetlejuice back today, consequences be damned to hell, which was coincidentally where she’d have to go to get their friend and almost-lover back. They’d all been circling each other for weeks, none of them willing to make the first move. Barbara and Adam had even had several painful and several less-than-painful conversations about opening up to a third member of their partnership and they both decided they wanted Beetlejuice to join them. However, the actual making that happen part of the ordeal difficult that they expected. There was always the chance of rejection, which would hurt more than was bearable, and the chance they’d blunder through it and make a mistake that was unrecoverable. And so they kept quiet in a way that didn’t suit Maitlands 2.0.

It was only a small part of the reason she was doing this, but they could resolve their relationship dilemma and desires without the object of said desires existing in this mortal plane. But mostly they all just missed him and wanted him safe and it was almost guaranteed that, wherever he was in the Netherworld, he was not safe and not happy. He belonged here, with the rest of their makeshift family.

She told Adam her plan, mostly so he wouldn’t worry, but she somehow didn’t expect him to insist on coming with her. In hindsight it was obvious that they would do this as a pair and, despite how she put up a token protest at his declaration, she was relieved that her wonderful husband would be going with her. They were better together, after all. Two were harder to break than one after all.

They debated leaving without telling the Deetz’s, if only to avoid the protests that it was unsafe and Lydia trying to go with them, but decided that leaving without letting anyone know would be far worse than leaving without them.

She grimaced as she and Adam came to that conclusion, dreading informing Lydia that she had to stay behind. Still, it must be done and she was through being a coward.

“What do you mean I can’t go with you?” Lydia half-yelled, half-accused.

Adam sent a desperate look to Barbara. This was about the reaction they’d expected, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was the right decision to leave her behind— the Netherworld was too dangerous for a living human— but that didn’t make the sharp betrayal Lydia felt and shoved into their faces more palatable.

“Lydia,” Barbara tried to sooth, “it’s too dangerous and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s bull—”

“She’s right, Lydia. You are absolutely forbidden from going with them,” Charles interrupted and Barbara shot him an appreciative look. At least they were both on the same page about this.

Lydia turned her accusing eyes to her father. “If it’s dangerous for me then it’s dangerous for them so why are they allowed to go?” she demanded, fisting her hands at her sides.

Charles heaved a sigh that only parents could relate to, one that said Heaven help me help my child because she is driving me insane. “For quite a few reasons. First, they’re adults and can make their own decisions. Second, you’re alive and that would make the trip especially dangerous for you. And third, you’re my daughter and I have final say.”

Lydia groaned and flopped back onto the couch. “That answer’s just a cop out and you know it. You just don’t want to help Beej!”

“Lydia,” Barbara scolded.

“You know that’s not a true or fair thing to say,” Delia chided. “Charles just wants to keep you safe.”

Lydia harrumphed but looked slightly guilty all the same, though she was still too stubborn to apologize just then. That would come later when tempers had cooled.

“I want Beetlejuice back too, but that doesn’t mean you have to put yourself at risk to make that happen,” Charles said, reaching deep into his endless reserves of patience.

Lydia’s eyes widened slightly and she looked taken aback.

“I— what?” he asked.

“You do?”

“I do what?”

“You really want Beej back?”

“I—” Charles brows scrunched in confusion before giving way to hurt. Barbara could understand in the beginning why she’d think Charles wouldn’t want Beetlejuice back, but many things had changed since then, especially them. Lydia couldn’t seriously believe Charles would just abandon Beej to whatever fate the Netherworld had in store. Could she.

“Of course I want him back. He’s family. But I don’t want him back at the expense of you,” Charles said, trying to hide his hurt but failing.

Delia cleared her throat, drawing the attention to her. “If I may… Your father and Beetlejuice may have had their differences at first but they, like we all have, have found some common ground. And I know you know they have their biweekly grocery store trips together. Lydia, I know you’re upset. We all are, but it’s not fair to your father to lash out at him like this, when he’s just trying to protect you.”

“I—” Lydia tried to interject.

“And I know you think you’ll be okay and you just want to help your friend, but we need to trust that Barbara and Adam can handle this, just like we trust you to sit back and let them and just like we trust Beej to be fighting to get back to us.”

All the first seemed to leave Lydia all at once and she stared blankly at the ceiling.

“When’d you get so decent at life coaching?” she groused.

Delia chuckled. “I guess I’ve just had more life experience since then.”

Lydia hummed and refused to look at Charles. “Sorry for implying you don’t care about Beej. I know you do. I just want to help and I feel so useless sitting here.”

Barbara felt proud of her quais-daughter. When they first met she never would have apologized to Charles in the middle of an argument, much less admit to her feelings while doing so. She really had grown and matured so much.

“I know, dear. And I forgive you,” Charles said. “If it helps, Delia and I aren’t feeling especially helpful right now either.”

“Not really, but thanks anyways.”

“You could help us figure out what we need to take with us?” Adam suggested and Barbara smiled at him. He had such good ideas, kombucha tea and aluminum siding aide.

The Deetz’s all perked up a bit at that and so they prepared for a rescue mission to hell.

In the end Barbara and Adam were saddled with backpacks filled with everything from matches to flashlights to chalk to Delia’s crystals, some of which they thought they might need and some of which they only allowed to pacify them.

But it was time to open the door and the wriggling worry Barbara had been pushing down returned full-force to the front of her mind. The Netherworld was an unknown land, filled with impossible hurdles, creatures, and no-doubt strange cultural differences that they’d have to figure out how to overcome. They didn’t even know if there’d be a map there or have the foggiest place of where to start searching. She had to have fair that they’d figure it out as they went along.

Adam looked at her with worried eyes that she hoped weren’t mirrored in her own.

“Maitlands 2.0?” he asked.

She nodded. “Maitlands 2.0,” she said and, with shaking hand, drew the doorway and the telltale green smoke filled the attic.

They both gagged as they landed none too gently in the Netherworld, the acrid smell of death and decay filling their lungs. Barbara clutched Adam’s hand like a lifeline and didn’t dare look up. She was just fine curled up on the ground, thank you very much.

They stayed like that for goodness knows how long, both adjusting to the thought that they’d finally passed on to the other side. Barbara was still mulling over how exactly they’d gotten into this mess when Adam interrupted her thoughts.

“Babs, look where we are.”

She hummed to indicate her displeasure but looked up all the same. They were in a hallway of sorts, eerie glowing lines on the walls. It would give her the impression of a laser tag arena were it not for the bones scattered periodically along the hallway and the paintings of various tortures on the walls. She flinched back as the eyes of the woman attached to a thumbscrew moved to look straight at her.

Adam squeezed her hand and they just stared at each other for a moment, doing what Beetlejuice described as their ‘couple telepathy.’

‘You okay,’ Adam asked with the furrowing of his brow.

Barbara’s lips quirked downward. ‘No. Are you?’

Adam looked away and rose to his feet ‘No, but we have to move on anyways.’

She squeezed his hand again. ‘I’m here for you,’ it said.

He helped her to her feet. ‘I’m here for you too.’

“Where do we go now?” he asked, voice breaking halfway through. He didn’t sound as scared as she expected, but this place also wasn’t as terrifying as she’d expected. The way Beetlejuice described the Netherworld she wouldn’t have been surprised to see torture victims every other step or people being actively maimed in front of her. The pictures on the way didn’t exactly count as actively suffering victims.

This place was spooky and unsettling, certainly, but it didn’t appear to be a torture chamber for ghosts. Maybe they were in an especially mild part of the Netherworld, but she didn’t hope to find out either way.

“I don’t know,'' she said, voice quiet, looking down the hallway left and right. They both appeared identical. “I guess we just pick a direction and keep walking.”

Adam nodded. “This way then,” he said, picking a direction.

And so they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked until Barbara was sure they’d been walking for weeks, the hallways little more than an endless labyrinth of identical halls with nothing to distinguish one from the other. She had yet to recognize a painting as one she’d seen before so, somehow, they’d not managed to retrace any of their steps. 

She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking, but the hallways stretched endlessly in all directions and she could feel a headache threatening to form at the base of her skull. She was tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix. Still, they continued walking and refused to express their fears aloud, which held the risk of making them real.

Somehow, hours or weeks or months later they came across a door, the first they’d seen since they’d arrived. It had no special markings or labels and wouldn't have looked out of place in their house, lacking even a single cobweb or bloody handprint. They both froze and stared at it in shock.

Adam raised a shaking hand to the door before lowering it again. “Should we?” he asked her, uncertainty clear in his tone.

She shrugged. What other options did they have?

She opened the door and they both immediately jumped back at the sudden noise and movement and signs of life on the other side.

“Are you coming in or not?” someone on the other side snapped at them. Adam clasped her hand as they stepped through, gently closing the door behind them. It disappeared immediately, which caused Barbara to half-flinch back in surprise before turning to look at where they’d found themselves.

They appeared to be in a waiting room of sorts, persons sitting and standing in all corners, all wearing matching faces of depression and apathy. Some were more obviously dead than others, with gaping wounds or missing body parts, and others looked almost alive, like the Maitlands did. There was a booth at the front of the room with glass windows and workers behind them.

The woman on the left was snarling at them like they were the sole reason for all the misery in the world and barked at them to _come on already! I’m not getting any deader over here._ Her clothes were old, ancient even, and looked like they belonged in a book on the renaissance instead of here at an 80's-esque office.

The woman on the right’s skin was an alarming shade of green and was flipping through a book with clear disinterest in its contents. She wore a sash that said Miss Argentina, which Barbara briefly wondered over before the angry worker on the right snapped at them again.

“Well?” the woman demanded, glaring at them.

“I, uh— we. Er…” Adam sputtered, looking flustered, and Barbara wasn’t any better. What was going on here?

The woman grunted, unimpressed. “Names?”

“Uh, names?”

“Yes,” the woman snapped. “Your names. What are they?”

Adam looked at Barbara, eyes wide, and she shrugged.

“Adam and Barbara Maitland.” Maybe it was better to lie but they’d be taking a risk either way.

The woman hummed and flipped through some paperwork, but the green lady on the right shot up when they said their names and walked over to the first woman’s desk.

“Wait. Did you say Adam and Barbara Maitland?” she asked with an unsettling intensity.

“Uh, yes?” Adam squeaked.

“You’re Betelgoose’s friends,” the woman said. It wasn’t a question.

Barbara answered her all the same. “We are.”

The woman’s eyes went wide and she grinned, a happy sort of smile that reached all parts of her face and would eventually give her crow’s feet. She turned to the first woman and said, “Don’t word about them, Lucille. I got this.”

“I literally could not care less,” Lucille answered and went back to flipping through her paperwork.

“That’s the spirit,” Miss Argentina said and disappeared behind the desk only to open a door off to the side and walk up to the Maitlands.

“Come with me please,” she said and guided them out of the waiting area without a backwards glance to see if they were following. Adam and Barbara gave each other a look, both of them unsure what to make of this odd turn of events. How did this woman know who they were and could they trust her? It didn’t appear they had much of a choice either way.

They walked with her down a hallway that looked nothing like the ones they’d been trapped in, until she guided them into a room that held a well-organized desk with two two basic office chairs in front of it. The woman took a seat on the desk and looked at the pair, who were hovering in the doorway.

“Sit, sit!” she said, gesturing to the seats. “Please close the door behind you.”

Once seated the woman began talking excitedly. “It is so nice to meet the both of you! Betelgoose has told me all about each of you. He is very fond of you.”

“You know Beetlejuice,” Barbara started to ask, but the woman immediately hushed her.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, glowering at them. “Using his real name like that? Very dangerous and very rude too.”

“Dangerous?” Barbara asked.

“Rude,” Adam echoed.

“Yes. Names have power here. That’s why we all go by something else, especially demons. You can call me Miss Argentina by the way.”

Names have power. Several puzzle pieces clicked in her head just then as the phrase had time to sink in. It would explain why Arlund didn’t call Beetlejuice by his proper name until he summoned him into the Devil’s trip. Barbara frowned to herself. It certainly added another layer of cruelty to his mother’s curse. If anyone had his real name then all they had to do was say it to summon him. He really ought to guard his name more closely, she thought, but it also appeared like it was common knowledge down here, which seemed all the more dangerous.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Argentina,” Adam said.

Barbara nodded in agreement, voice stiff. “Yes.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“You and Beej are friends then?” Barbara asked.

Miss Argentina nodded. “As much as you can be friends with a demon, that is. They’re very prickly creatures, though Betelgoose less so than most. We get along for the most part. He helps me out and I help him out. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“Are you able to help us find him?” Adam asked, face betraying his anxiety.

Miss Argentina froze. “What do you mean find him? Is he not with you in the Upperworld?”

“No,” Barbara said and made the active decision to trust this strange woman. It seemed like she was their best and only option at the moment. And, at the very least, she seemed a better friend than Arlund claimed to be. “He was banished. We haven’t been able to summon him back and he hasn’t come back on his own either.”

Miss Argentina slammed a hand on her desk and stood up, staring them down with a fierce intensity. “Banished? You _banished_ him? Carajo. Why? He is probably with Juno right now, being punished or, or tortured, or _worse_ for disobeying her and coming back here!” 

“It was an accident!” Adam protested.

“Another demon was there—”

“Arlund.”

“And we trapped him in a circle.”

“To banish _just_ him.”

“But then he summoned Beetle— Beej into the circle. And we, we had to— There was no other choice and he told us to, but…” Barbara cut herself off.

“We had to banish them both together,” Adam finished for her. “And we thought he’d come back, but it’s been two weeks and he, well, he hasn’t.”

Their explanation seemed to have mollified Miss Argentina but she didn’t appear any less concerned. “Two weeks up top?” she asked after a long period of silence.

“Uh, yes?” Adam said.

She cursed under her breath. “Then it has likely been months down here. Who knows what’s happened to him in the meantime?”

She and Adam shared a look, one that said _oh crap. This is bad, really really really bad._

This was so much worse than she imagined because either A) he was caught in a situation where he couldn’t come back, likely being trapped by Juno or Arlund or B) he didn’t want to come back. Neither of those possibilities was appealing. She was really hoping he was just taking an extended nap, though she knew that was a childish and unrealistic wish.

“Will you help us find him?” Barbara asked.

“You would have me go against the great King Juno for your sakes? Putting my own afterlife at risk?”

“You—” Barbara started. How dare she? Didn’t Beetlejuice mean anything to her? Friends were supposed to protect each other, not sit back and do nothing when they were in trouble. First Beetlejuice claimed Arlund was his friend and then the bastard nearly ripped him into pieces and now this ghost would just sit back and do nothing while he was imprisoned or tortured or worse.

“No,” Adam interrupted and she sent him a withering glare. “We’d ask you to do that for Beej, not us. He needs our help.” 

Barbara settled back onto her chair from where she’d risen in preparation to tear Miss Argentina a new one. She felt slightly bad for glaring Adam but she was sure she was already forgiven for the misunderstanding. Of course he wouldn’t expect Miss Argentina not to help.

Miss Argentina pushed her hands to her face and groaned. “Ugh. Fine. Fine! But that puta de madre owes me big time and you be sure to tell him this.”

Adam smiled softly at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Why can’t you tell him that yourself?” Barbara asked, still angry and feeling especially protective of Beetlejuice

“I’ll tell you how to get to Juno’s house. That’s where Betelgoose likely is since you can’t summon him. There are very few places with magic or power enough to overcome one of _Juno Shoggoth’s_ curses. I’ll even take you most of the way there, but I can’t go in with you. I like Betelgoose, I really do, but I will not put my life at risk for him. I have to protect myself too. I’m sure you understand,” she said.

Barbara could in theory, but at the same time didn’t feel especially sympathetic to her excuses. That was their family in danger and she didn’t take kindly to this woman, who claimed to be his friend, being unwilling to help them get him out of whatever torture chamber he was in. She knew it was an uncharitable and unfair thought, but she didn’t care. It was how she felt and she wasn’t going to change her mind.

She expressed none of this out loud, however. They needed her help and couldn’t afford to spit on what form that help came in. Fortunately, Adam was always more forgiving than her when it came to things like this.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.

Miss Argentina nodded at him. “You are welcome.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, first things first. You need to get rid of those bags. You’ll need to be sneaky and you cannot do that with a thousand pounds strapped to your backs.”

Barbara agreed with her, much to her displeasure, but it was still hard to part with the belongings they were so lovingly sent with. Still, they both dropped the bags to the ground, Adam sneaking out one of Delia’s crystals that was supposed to bring good luck and Barbara pocketing the phone Lydia sent with her. She had only a vague idea of how to use it but still thought it might be a good idea to bring it along. It was a shame wall phones had become obsolete, but she could admit a phone you could carry in your pocket was helpful, even if she didn’t know with complete certainty how to use it.

And so they abandoned most of their belongings and followed Miss Argentina through maze after maze of hallways and offices. Some of them wouldn’t be out of place in the Upperworld and others would be haunting Barbara’s dreams at night.

The whole time Miss Argentina was giving them instructions, which Barbara was trying to commit to memory best she could. She couldn’t tell them exactly what to expect upon entering the house, but they received an extensive rundown on Juno’s abilities (endless), her cruelty (endless), and how much she wanted to see wanted to see Beetlejuice and the rest of their little family punished for daring to oppose her (also endless).

Barbara’s hope for the three of them getting out in one piece? Very finite and becoming even more so by the minute. Adam looked slightly queasy and she hoped he wasn’t losing his nerve since she neither wanted nor thought she could do this without him.

She reached out and took his hand, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Miss Argentina warned them that if they hadn’t managed to summon Beetlejuice then he was likely in some sort of magic-proof room in chains. She wasn’t sure how exactly it was done but was certain that it was well within Juno’s abilities to block her own curse. But if you listened to Miss Argentina then there wasn’t anything Juno couldn’t do and Barbara wouldn’t allow herself to believe that. She was still a person and people had limits.

They’d been walking for a long time, though not nearly as long as they had been in the maze, and were in a batch of abandoned always. The previous ones where the waiting room was all had some sort of bustling life within it, but these were empty in a way that screamed of danger. The first labyrinth they came across had an air more like a sleeping building, but the emptiness of this place felt more like a house abandoned to a monster.

The whole area smelling like rotting corpses and the walls were blacked with rot and decay, abandoned spider webs laying in thick sheets over the ceilings. Barbara noticed the doors were labeled with numbers and were rising to an unfortunate conclusion. 660. 662. 664.

666.

Of course they stopped at that door.

Miss Argentina turned to them. “The only reason we have gotten this far is because I happen to know that Juno is dealing with an issue with the latest group of Newly Deads on the East Side right now, a very messy debacle and quite far away. I cannot guarantee how long you have but I would guess at least an hour.”

“That’s not enough time,” Adam whispered to her.

“We’ll have to make it enough,” Barbara whispered back.

Their guide cracked the door open and peered in, letting out a relieved breath when the room was empty. 

“Come, come,” she said.

“Is this Juno’s office?” Adam asked, eyeing the surprisingly normal-looking room with suspension. Barbara had to admit she was expecting more carnage and viscera as well.

“It is,” Miss Argentina said and led them to a large metal cabinet on the far wall. “This is where I leave you,” she told them. “Through the cabinet is a portal that will take you to Juno's house. This is where I am guessing our friend is.”

“Right,” Adam said. He was looking at the cabinet like it might come to life and bite them at any moment.

“Thank you,” Barbara said. “For taking us here. Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

“I am. But, please, when you find him please let us know that I hope he is well and happy. Tell him to write more often.”

“We will,” Adam said.

“Thank you.”

“So we just open it and go through?” 

Miss Argentina nodded.

Barbara took a deep breath. One might argue that, as a ghost, she didn’t need to but her nerves certainly did. She turned to Adam. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Good. Me neither.”

She reached to the cabinet’s handles and pulled. They gave way after a bit of pressure without a creaking groan that would have fit the mood. A swirling green and gray fog was inside. It reminded her of the morning mists that would happen over the highway, laying over the area like a thick, smothering blanket.

Adam grasped at her hand and their eyes met. She saw her own fear mirrored there, as well as the surety that they were going in anyways. There was no other acceptable alternative.

“Good luck,” Miss Argentina told them.

“Thank you. We’ll need it.”

With that, they stepped into the fog and immediately felt their stomachs fly to their heads as gravity ceased to have a hold on them and their vision blackened, heads swirling like they were on a rollercoaster as they fell and fell and fell until they were falling no longer.

They didn’t crash into an unforgiving ground like she expected, but their descent slowed to a gentle drop as they appeared on the grassy grounds of what looked like one of those old wooden Scottish houses, massive and overgrown with ivy. It was the sort of house that was filled with ghosts and had a thousand skeletons in the closets, the sort of house that had spiders and drafts in every corner and a sordid history just underneath the surface.

This was the place, she was certain.

This was where Beetlejuice grew up and where he was now. The thought made her sad for reasons she didn't want to think about. This place didn look like a home. It looked like a prison with fancy siding.

“You alright?” Adam asked her.

Was she? She looked down at herself. There were no fresh injuries or tears in her clothing. Adam looked slightly disheveled and his glasses were askew, but he didn’t seem hurt either.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He nodded and looked apprehensively at the house. “That’s the place, then?”

“Looks like.”

“I hate this.”

“Me too, darling.”

They sat there for another few seconds, staring at their next obstacle. Unfortunately, they and Beetlejuice were running out of time. Adam seemed to have come to the same conclusion because he stood and offered her a hand up, which she took more than willingly.

***

The door wasn’t even locked when they finished the green mile walk to the entrance. Barbara supposed that being the biggest baddest demon on the block must give one a certain security and knowledge that no one could possibly be foolish enough to break into your house.

They walked fruitlessly for several minutes, finding almost everything else but Beetlejuice it seemed. The house was finely decorated, laced in rich decor but lacking any touches that would make it anything but oppressive to be in. Nothing signaled that this was a home or even lived in.

It was a museum dedicated to making everyone but Juno feel powerless.

Barbara sighed. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

Adam looked discomfited. “No, we’re not,” he agreed.

They poked their heads in the kitchen. It was spotless, of course, a pinnacle of false perfection like everything else here. Beetlejuice, with his penchant for anything filth, disgusting, or improper, must have stuck out like a sore thumb here.

“Barbara?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to do something that’s probably stupid.”

“Wh—”

Then, at the top of his lungs he called out, “Beej!” Barbara startled back at the sudden loudness in the otherwise silent out.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, not angry but alarmed. “What if she hears us?”

“Then she already knew we were here,” Adam said and he had a point. Time was more important than staying quiet. If Juno was going to find them then she was going to find them regardless of how loud or quiet they were.

“Beej!” Barbara called. The house echoed its silence back.

“Beej!” “BJ!”

They heard a creaking above them and both shared a look that was an entire conversation and silently reversed their steps back to the grand staircase they’d seen in the main parlor. They climbed it silently and Barbara noted the gold finishes on the handrails in disgust. This woman was all show and no substance.

The upper level looked just the same as the lower ones. There were the same stuffy decorations overlaying outdated flooring and wallpaper.

“Beej!” Adam called. They heard more creaking and a door open and shut.

“Beej?” he said softly.

Barbara hushed him as they creeped toward the noise, hairs on the backs of their necks raised as cold tension creeped into their bones.

They turned the corner and standing in the middle of the hallway was Beetlejuice and he looked like he’d been through hell and back. His hair was purple in color, greasy and matted with a dark substance Barbara hoped wasn’t blood but knew was all the same. His clothes definitely were covered in brown blood stains and were torn like he’d been slashed at with a knife and he had two large black cuffs around each of his wrists. The circles under his eyes were dark and deep and his ears were pinned backwards.

“Beej!” they both cried out and rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug that he didn’t return, hands dangling limply at his sides.

When he spoke his voice was rough. His normal voice was like sandpaper but he sounded like he’d spent the past several weeks screaming it hoarse. “What are you two doing here?” he asked.

Barbara released him from the hug, but still held tightly to one arm as Adam clung to the other one, like they were afraid he’d disappear again if they stopped touching him. Beetlejuice looked at them holding on to him like he wasn’t quite processing anything that was happening around him.

Adam looked at Barbara with a concerned expression. This wasn’t the happy reunion they were expecting.

“We’re here to bring you home, Beej,” Adam said.

“Home?” he echoed. Barbara didn’t think the sentence registered. He did this sometimes, echoing words and phrases people said to him without any sense of their meaning. He’d once spent the entire day repeating a commercial that had come on TV. She didn’t understand it but she recognized it when she saw it.

Adam seemed to as well because he placed a gentle hand on Beetlejuice’s face and moved it to look at him straight on, not in the eyes because Beetlejuice also had a tendency to avoid eye contact, but this was close enough. “We’re bringing you home, with us?”

“Home?” he echoed again, brows furrowed in confusion. “This is home.”

Barbara couldn’t help it. She reached up to touch Beetlejuice’s hair, heart breaking at its deep purple heart and further shattering when he half-flinched away from her hand. She froze, before placing it on the top of his head and stroking his hair once, twice. He pushed his head into her hand, like he had a thousand times before, closing his eyes like a contented cat.

“Babs?” he whispered, a hint of awareness returning to his tone “Adam?”

“Yeah, it’s us,” Adam whispered back. “We’re bringing you home.”

He frowned at them but the expression quickly faded into an unsettling blankness. “But I am home?” he said distantly.

“No,” Barbara said vehemently. “This isn’t your home.”

He made a confused and distressed noise and pushed his head further into her hand. Barbara tried to ignore what she could now clearly tell was blood matting his hair.

“It is,” Beetlejuice insisted. All at once he gasped and jerked back, seeming to notice them fully for the first time and visibly shaking off the fog in his head. “What are you two doing here? It’s not safe,” he hissed, eyes darting around anxiously.

“We came to get you, Beej,” Barbara said. While he appeared more aware, he words didn’t seem to process.

“Why?”

And goodness if that didn’t snap her heart right in two, the thought that he didn’t understand why they’d want him back home, why they’d come and get him. She tried to tell herself it was whatever unnatural confusion that was clouding his mind. Did he have a concussion? What was happening to him? Tears welled in her eyes and Adam didn’t look much better.

“Because we care about you.” “Because we love you.”

Barbara and Adam shared a startled look and years later neither of them could say with certainty which of them had said _I love you_ first, though most claimed it was them. Neither of them meant to admit it just then, with Beetlejuice not all the way mentally present in the house where he was victim to centuries of abuse and while they were all afraid for their undead lives. It wasn’t the admission that would have occurred in a fairy tale, but it was theirs and it was precious and no one was going to take it from them.

Beetlejuice blinked rapidly. “You—? What? No, you can’t. That can’t be true?”

“Why not?” Barbara demanded, voice gentle.

“We love you, Beej. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but we do and we want you to come home with us,” Adam said.

“Of course I love you. I love you both more than I know how to say and more than I thought I was capable of feeling,” he said like it was a known fact of life, like gravity or death or oxygen. It made an unfairly attractive blush rise on Adam’s cheeks and Barbara felt an embarrassing smile rise up on her face and felt a lot like a 14 year-old girl with her first crush.

“But you can’t love me. That doesn’t make sense. Juno said—”

“It doesn’t matter what Juno said,” Barbara said.

“Juno is a liar and doesn’t know what we feel.”

“But,” he said with a frown and cut himself off with a displeased groan. “My head hurts.”

“Are you alright?” Adam asked.

Beetlejuice shook his head and Barbara re-noticed the cuffs on his arms. “What are those?” she asked, pointing at them. Beetlejuice looked at the cuffs slowly, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, those,” he said absently. “Mom put them on me so I can’t use my powers.”

“What?” Barbara asked. Who was this woman to hurt her… hurt her whatever they were to each other! To hurt and limit her son, making him purple and bloody and unable to think.

Adam put a hand on her arm and shook his head, an action that told her to _calm down. This isn’t what he needs right now._ Barbara took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the swirling rage inside her. It wasn’t an easy task. Forget Arlund, if Barbara was given the ability to smite anyone in the world she wanted it would be Juno.

Beetlejuice quieted as Adam soothed and shushed him, reassuring him that of course Barbara wasn’t mad at him and he didn’t do anything wrong. “Are the cuffs making it hard for you to think?” Adam asked gently.

“I… yeah, I guess. It’s hard to, um, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Adam was quick to reassure. “It’s not your fault.”

Beetlejuice frowned at the cuffs. “It is. I was acting out and she didn’t have any other choice.”

“She did,” Barbara said and Beetlejuice shook his head in disagreement. “She did,” Barbara insisted. “What if Charles put these on Lydia??”

She could see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled that one over and Barbara almost felt bad for asking, for forcing him to work through whatever magic was keeping his mind in chains, but this was important for him to realize.

“Barbara?” Adam whispered to her. “I know what you’re trying to do and I support it fully, but I think we should do it later.”

“Later? No, he needs to know she was wrong to do this. She—” 

“She is likely on her way right now. We can deal with the mental fallout once we’re safe, Babs. Please?”

Of course, she thought. Adam was right, of course he was. He always was good at keeping on track, whether they were building a model or breaking their friend out of a prison in hell. Barbara might find herself lost in the weeds but she could always trust Adam to reel her back in. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s find a way out of here.”

Adam leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Bug,” Adam said, interrupting the mini crisis Beetlejuice was working himself into. “Do you know how to get the cuffs off? Or how to get back to the Upperworld?”

“Get them off?” he echoed. “No. Only Mom can do that. And I haven’t… I haven’t earned getting them off yet.”

Barbara seethed silently, but kept her quiet rage in check, knowing it wouldn’t be beneficial at the moment. Adam would let her rage at him about it all later and would probably have some of his own anger about the situation to process with her.

They could break down Beetlejuice’s unhealthy thinking later as well, just as soon as they were safe.

“Okay,” she said. “Do you know how to get back home? To the Deetz’s house?”

“The Maitland-Deetz house,” he said and Barbara allowed herself a small smile at the sweetness of the statement. Of course he called it that, still thought of it as their house first and foremost. It was the _Maitland_ -Deetz house, not the Deetz house or even the Deetz-Maitland house. But still, it was his house too, she thought.

Adam huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Do you know how to get us back to the Maitland-Deetz house?”

Beetlejuice looked down at his hands, which were rubbed raw and bloody, claws broken down to a harmless length. It was another injustice to seethe about at a later time. “You don’t,” he mumbled.

Barbara frowned. “What do you mean we don’t?” she asked. There had to be a way out of here. Beetlejuice managed to get up top often enough that it couldn’t be too impossible of a task.

“He means that you don’t,” they heard a voice from behind them say and whipped around to see, in all of her deceptively appearing glory, Juno Shoggoth standing at the end of the hall, face warped in quiet fury.

“Mom?”

Juno sighed, deep and mocking. “Really, Lawrence? After all I’ve done for you, you’ve let these…” Her face contorted in disgust. “People in my house?”

Barbara jutted her chin out in defiance. “We’re here to bring Beej back home and to be honest we don’t much care what you have to say about it.”

“Y- yeah!” Adam sputtered and Barbara’s heart swelled with affection for her terrified, brave husband who was standing next to her in hell facing the most powerful demon they know of without balking.

“Ma?” Beetlejuice said, confusion clear in his tone, and eyes going unfocused.

Juno sneered at him, ignoring the Maitlands presence entirely. “You’d still be able to think with those cuffs on if you weren’t such a worthless excuse for a demon, you know.”

“Don’t talk to him that way!” Barbara called out, drawing Juno’s attention back to her, something she immediately regretted.

She felt more than heard Beetlejuice back up, pressing himself against the wall and she felt a tight clenching in her chest when she looked at him. His face was contorted in such obvious misery and fear, streaks of white now overlaying the purple in his hair.

“Why do you even want him here so bad?” Adam demanded “You _clearly_ don’t care about him,” he said and winced when he heard the pained whine coming from Beetlejuice. It was cruel, but true, Barbara thought. Beej belonged with them, not here with a monster who kept him trapped and chained him up like a rabid dog. “So let him go back with us.”

“You do not tell me what to do,” Juno snarled and waved a hand, sending the Matilands flying backwards and crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. Juno walked past her son who was cowering on the floor without a backwards glance, approaching the ghosts with purposeful steps that accompanied people who believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’d already won.

Barbara shared a fearful look with Adam. What were they going to do now? They couldn’t even hold their own against Arlund. A snowball would have a better chance in hell than they did now against Juno.

She pressed her hand forward pinning them against the wall.

“I am going to kill each of you slowly and painfully while my god for nothing son watches. He’ll never do anything without my say-so again after I’m through with you.” She looked at them with and sighed with an air of condescending disappointment. It reminded Barbara of her racist mean old witch of a grannie. “Why did you have to interfere and throw such a wrench in my plans? He was going to spend a certainty or so alone and miserable up top, unable to meaningfully interact with anyone and then, when he was desperate and broken, I’d let him back home with me and he’d be by my side again. Loyal, like a child should be.”

She sneered at them and summoned a lit cigar that she put in her mouth, still pinning them to the wall. Barbara could see Beetlejuice kneeling on the floor, staring at them with wide eyes, ears pressed back against his skull so tightly that Barbara could see them turning white. Juno seemed to have forgotten her son kneeling behind her, listening to her vitriol. “But then you two had to go and let him in your house like a stray mongrel. He even has _fleas_ like one,” she continued in disgust, eyeing Beetlejuice.

“Not anymore,” Adam protested and Barbara could have smacked him upside the head if she was capable of moving her arms. There were more important issues present and, besides, it was never wise to antagonize the lioness that had them pinned like baby zebras, even if he was right. His weekly baths had done wonders for his weird smells, fleas, and grime-covered body, even if they hadn’t touched the moss. 

Juno didn’t bother verbally reacting to the dry remark as she pressed them harder against the wall, pressure building on their chests as Barbara found herself unable to breathe or speak. Breathing wasn’t necessary given their current state of existence but it still hurt to suddenly be deprived of oxygen. It was like that first rush when the rollercoaster dropped, that sudden feeling of your organs shifting to where they don’t belong as the air is pulled from your lungs. Only the rollercoaster didn’t level out and Barbara and Adam were left gasping and desperate for a relief that didn’t come.

“You try my patience,” Juno deadpanned, puffing at her cigar. “You were meant to report to the Netherworld _immediately_ after death, but no, you had to stay behind and actually like Lawrence.” She laughed, a low miserable sound that rattled like smoke before stopping short and frowning at them. “No. You’ll both be sent to the Well of Lost Souls,” she smirked. “Do you two know what that is? No matter, you’ll find out soon enough. But, once you are there and your souls are being ripped apart like the pathetic excuses of flesh you are, then my little Lawrence can be retrained back to _perfection._ My loyal dog once more.”

Barbara was sure her face was a picture of pure fury. How dare this woman act like Beetlejuice was nothing more than a mindless animal, a beast to be thrown around without any thought. He was a _person,_ damn it! Moreover, he was her person and she didn’t take kindly to whatever Juno was planning on doing to him.

Juno twitched as they heard a sharp snap, like a sheet of ice breaking, once, twice. And then a pained grunt.

Barbara and Beetlejuice locked eyes as Juno swirled around to face him. He dropped the cuffs to the ground with a dull thud and Barbara recoiled in horror as she saw he’d broken both of his thumbs in order to slip his hands out of them. His hair was now tipped in a furious shade of red as he glared at Juno from his still-kneeling position on the floor.

“Really?” Juno asked, tone not unlike a fed up mother when their toddler snuck into the cookie jar again.

“You’re not sending them to the Well of Lost Souls, Ma. I won’t let you.”

She huffed a humorless laugh. “You don’t have a choice, Lawrence.”

Barbara looked at Adam out of the corner of her eye and he wiggled his fingers at her as he sent her a meaningful glance. She tried to move her own and found they had more movement than a moment ago, not much but enough to signal Juno wasn’t entirely focused on them anymore.

“You can’t even protect yourself. What makes you think you can protect _them_?”

Beetlejuice pressed his palms against the ground and growled, low and threatening and causing the hairs on the back of Barbara's neck to stand on end. “Because I love them.”

Oh. Oh.

He loved them. _He loved them._ And that was one of the first things he said after getting the horrible mind-numbing magic chains off. That was… that was something significant and she didn’t quite know what it meant. He _loved_ them. He loved _them._ Maybe if she kept repeating it then it would finally register. Adam made a stunned noise beside her.

Juno, the miserable witch, just laughed. It was the first noise out of her that signaled genuine humor and Barbara hated it. No, that was too kind. She loathed it. Any happiness for her was too much, especially at the expense of Beetlejuice.

Beetlejuice, however, didn’t look fazed and with the quickness of a snake shot forward and tackled Juno to the ground, pinning her with his broken and jagged claws as she made a surprised noise and tried to swipe back at him. Barbara and Adam slumped forward as Juno’s magic was interrupted as she focused on her more-pressing threat.

“Run!” Beetlejuice called out to them, dodging a blast of energy heading straight towards his head.

“We’re not leaving you behind,” Adam said, rising to his knees and pushing his glasses back up where they’d fallen.

Juno flung Beetlejuice off, sending him flying across the ground, landing next to Adam and Barbara. 

He looked at them, pushing himself onto his arms, and said desperately, “You have to. I can’t hold her off for long. Find Miss Argentina and get her to take you to Maru. He’ll help you get up top.” His words were fast, tumbling over one another as they tried to escape his head and reach their heads in some semblance of order.

Juno rose, face promising swift retribution for daring to challenge her authority, the one thing she always held without question. If her own son couldn’t be kept in his place at her heel then the rest of the Netherworld would soon follow and that was beyond unacceptable.

“Come with us,” Barbara said, darting forward to grasp Beetlejuice’s hand in hers. 

“I can’t, Babs.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“I—”

“You can’t tell me you _want_ to stay here,” Adam said.

Then Juno was upon them and pulled Beetlejuice up by the collar and spinning so he was looking at the Maitlands over her shoulder who were frozen in place. She stared him straight in the eyes and said to him, low and level and full of promised pain, “If you give up now then I might consider not leaving you to our best torturer’s for the next half millennia.”

Hell no, Barbara thought as she watched more white creep into Beetlejuice's hair as his ears dropped and his face contorted into a miserable expression.

Without sparing a moment to think about it she summoned a sword like she’d seen in one of Charles’ Lord of the Rings movies he refused to admit were his. It was solid in her hands, heavy silver, and she raised it with trembling hands, the point a mere half inch from Juno’s unguarded and unaware back, her focus entirely on Beetlejuice.

Barbara was used to being underestimated and ignored by those who took one look at her dress and golden hair and thought that she could never pose a threat to anyone or even dare to protest against the unfair rules that they set in place. Juno would soon learn like the rest of those idiots of years past that Maitlands 2.0 shouldn’t be underestimated or ignored.

“Please,” Beetlejuice squeaked, voice cracking.

“Shut up,” Juno snarled, pressing a clawed hand against his throat.

Barbara tried to find the courage to thrust the blade forward and discorporate their tormentor, but her hand stilled every time she tried to strike. She felt Adam’s hands cover hers on the hilt of the blade and he nodded at her. This man, this wonderful man, who was her courage when hers failed, her support when she couldn’t stand on her own, and champion when she couldn’t find it within her to cheer herself on. She smiled at him, tears welling in her eyes and sent a prayer to anyone who would listen that Adam could see how much she loved him, how valued and cherished he was, this brave, wonderful, weird kombucha-loving man who followed her to the pits of hell without the barest hint of protest.

She nodded back.

And together they thrust the sword forward, blade sinking in with surprisingly little resistance, like a knife through cheese. They felt Juno jolt and make a pained, choking noise as she dropped Beetlejuice, who fell to the ground and looked up at her in horror.

Barbara’s arms turned to jelly as she dropped the sword, letting Adam bear its weight.

Juno reeled on them with more speed than should have been possible with a gaping sword-wound in her chest. Blood fell in thick rivulets out of the hole and dripped out of her cherry red lips. It pooled at her feet and Barbara shoved down the nausea she felt at the sight.

“You’ll regret that,” Juno panted out as blood spattered onto Barbara and Adam. Adam stepped back quickly, putting several feet of distance between himself and the demon who, with a swipe of her had, sent the sword flying over the railing at the end of the hallway. It’s clanging echoed through the house as it fell. The noise reminded Barbara of a death knell and she felt her lips curl as she planted her feet on the ground in front of Adam.

“Never,” she snarled. “We refuse to let him stay here to be abused and groomed into your attack dog. He deserves better than that, better than you, and we are taking him home whether you like it or not.”

Juno frowned and spat a thick globule of blood onto the floor. She wiped at her face and snapped, summoning a small dagger that appeared in her hands. It was a dull, unassuming little thing without decorations or ornaments, but Barbara could feel the evil radiating from it. Whatever else the blade was, it was clearly magic of the malicious sort.

“The Well of Lost Souls is too good for the both of you.”

She raised the knife and Barbara flinched, digging her head into Adam’s shoulder as he curled an arm over her protectively, but the blow never struck.

Blood spilled out of her mouth as she gaped like a dying fish, grunting in pain when she looked down to see the sword piercing her heart. Beetlejuice’s head dropped to rest on Juno’s, hands bone-white as he clenched the hilt in a desperate attempt to stop from trembling. He made a noise of pure agony that ripped Barbara’s heart to shreds to hear.

“I’m so sorry Mom,” he whispered into Juno’s ear and pulled the sword out with a wince, turning his head to the side with closed eyes. Juno fell to her knees and glared at Beetlejuice, hatred clear in every aspect of her tone and body language.

“I should have killed you as soon as you were born, you fucking snake in the grass, worthless—” she rasped, bitter hatred clouding her eyes.

Beetlejuice raised the sword and Barbara could see the fine tremor wracking his entire body as he swung and Juno’s head fell to the floor with a splatter that made them all flinch.

They all breathed in silence for several long moments, staring at the discorporated demon on the floor and watching as she turned to dust before them. Her body would regenerate within a few months, but they were safe for now. Never forever, but a few months was more than enough for Barbara to feel the tension release from her shoulders. They were safe.

She looked at Beetlejuice who stared at the floor with a bank expression, tears streaming down his face in thick streams.

“Beej?” Adam asked hesitantly, voice soft.

“She never did love me, did she?” Beetlejuice said without inflection.

“I—” Adam started and paused, shoulders slumping. “I don’t think so, no.”

Beetlejuice didn’t frown or snarl in fury or appear surprised in the way Barbara expected. Instead, he didn’t react at all, his face the picture of perfect blankness.

“Right,” he said and visibly shook himself, plastering a plastic smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. Even if he thought that would fool them his hair was a dead giveaway— it was a deep purple like the wine-dark ocean— though it was still an imperfect indicator of his emotional state.

“Let’s get out of her then,” he said and reached out his hands for them to take, which they did hesitantly, sharing a telling look between them. He wasn’t reacting as he should be. She knew that there was no set way to react to something like this, but his passive acceptance of killing his mother didn’t sit right with her.

“Wait,” Barbara said, grabbing at his hand, but Beetlejuice refused to turn and look at her. His ear flicked in acknowledgement.

Barbara shared a desperate look with Adam. What could someone possibly say in a situation like this that would make it better? There were no magic words, no nuggets of wisdom she could share, nothing. All she and Adam could do was be there and that felt the same as doing nothing.

“I… we know you’re not okay right now, but we’re here for you when you want to talk and we’d love nothing more than to listen,” she finally decided on.

“Right,” Adam agreed softly.

Beetlejuice huffed. “Thanks B-town, A-dog. Means a lot, more than you know, but I wouldn’t bother you with something as dumb as my feelings.” He tried to tug his hand free but Barbara held fast and Adam walked to his side to take his other one, rubbing his thumb over the back of Beetlejuice’s hand, careful of the still-broken thumb.

“You’re feelings aren’t dumb, not any more than mine or Barbara’s or Lydia’s,” he said.

“But—”

“No,” Adam said. “You don’t get to argue with us on this one. Would you say Lydia was being dumb if she ever wanted to talk about her mom? Or something at school that was bothering her?”

Beetlejuice looked a mix of offended and disgusted. “Of cour—”

“Of course not,” Adam interrupted. “We know that. But your feelings are just as valid as her’s and you’re just as worthy to talk about them.”

The sudden huffiness that Beetlejuice mustered collapsed as he looked down at his feet, tears welling at his eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Barbara soothed. It’d been a long few weeks and Barbara was she they’d barely scratched the surface of whatever mind-fuckery Juno had put him through, even putting aside the physical abuses she was sure Juno had inflicted. “It’s okay.”

The tears escaped, coming down in intermittent rivulets, and Beetlejuice’s head fell to his chest, as he choked back quiet sobs. The noiselessness of his crying was off putting and put scenes in Barbara’s head of a little Beetlejuice crying silently in his room as an uncaring mother ignored him or of an even younger little bug loudly sobbing as Juno would berate and scream, flinging promises of violent if he didn’t just shut up.

“Can we hug you?” she asked.

He nodded furiously and barely got past the first syllable of the word ‘please’ before Adam and Barbara had him wrapped in a bear hug for the ages. Beetlejuice was a solid weight under her arms, soft and just perfect for pressing tight against her, a firm reminder that he was there and, despite everything, still in one piece. She wouldn't go so far as to say he was okay, but he didn’t need to be. He just needed to be there and everything else would follow suit and she and Adam would be there the whole way.

She felt the collar of her shirt became damp as the silent tears continued and she hugged him all the tighter, feeling the comforting weight of Adam’s arm around her shoulders.

They passed long minutes like this, long enough that Beetlejuice’s tears dried up and they all stood in comfortable silence, enjoying their little bubble away from the world and the calm peacefulness it brought with it. Nothing could touch them while they were standing here, not even the troubles of the real world or the threat of Juno’s eventual vengeance.

Eventually, Beetlejuice cleared his throat and pulled back, still letting his hands rest on each of their arms as he refused to make eye contact, a light blush on his cheeks that matched the pink in his hair. It still was largely purple, but green and pink had overtaken the streaks that were previously red and white. Adam palmed it gently with a small smile that Barbara was used to only seeing directed at her during their most tender of moments. She couldn’t bring herself to mind since she was sure she was wearing a similar smitten expression. They’d have to talk about this eventually, but it looked like Beetlejuice was about at his limit for emotions for the day. And, if she was being honest, she wasn't; sure how much more vulnerability and rawness she could handle either.

“We should go,” he said, voice rough and still thick from the tears.

Barbara allowed him to release her as she nodded. Adam held on for a moment longer before allowing Beetlejuice to drop his arm and guide them to the exit. They walked in silence out of the house, which Barbara still found overbearing in its carefully orchestrated opulence, and looked in quiet wonder as Beetlejuice guided them through the streets of the Netherworld as they made their way back home.

Beetlejuice’s contact cracked jokes with him like they were old friends and Barbara desperately hoped that this man was good for him and not putting on a farce for them. Her mind circled back to Arlund who Beetlejuice claimed was one of his oldest companions, who he shared many nights with. She held her tongue as his contact opened a portal for them, rushing them through since he apparently wasn’t supposed to let any unauthorized persons head up top. Beetlejuice refrained from telling him that the highest authority of the land was temporarily deposed and she chose to respect the lie.

“Thanks,” Adam mumbled as they shuffled through the door, appearing in the middle of a forest, trees stretching in all directions as far as the eye should see.

Barbara leaned against the nearest tree, trying to shake off the queasy feeling from stepping through the portal and she vaguely noticed Adam slowly collapsing to the ground behind her. For the first time since dying she was grateful she couldn’t get drunk anymore since this feeling reminded her of the unsteadiness and nauseousness that came along with overindulging. Barbara groaned. This was the worst.

“Y’all good?” Beetlejuice asked, hovering like a mother hen that wasn’t sure what to do, circling them.

Barbara groaned again. “Yeah,” Adam said, drawing out the word and trying not to dry heave. “Just give us a minute.”

“Sure thing, A-dog,” Beetlejuice said softly, leaning his back on a tree next to Barbara’s and crossing his arms. He didn’t appear concerned, which gave Barbara hope that this was a mild and temporary nuisance. He seemed to calm the second they passed into the Upperworld and Barbara felt much the same. She didn’t give much credence to the idea of energies or auras but there was something about being among the land of the living that relieved a thick cloud of dismay from over her head.

“Where are we?” Adam asked.

Beetlejuice sniffed at the hair. “Southeastern Maryland,” he said. “Just a hop, skip, and a boat ride away from your little patch of Heaven.”

The nausea was beginning to fade to a more tolerable level and Barbara stood up to look at her boys. Adam appeared no worse for the wear as he sat on the forest floor. He looked exhausted but that was expected. Beetlejuice seemed present in the moment, which was a marked improvement from before and his hair was mostly green again, his default shade and not the vibrant color that signaled happiness, but it was still better than the purple, which now only tipped the ends. His eyes were squinted shut as he raised his face towards the sun. It seemed their little snake liked being up top and she certainly understood that.

“You can tell that by smelling at the hair?” Adam asked. Beetlejuice hummed and nodded, disinclined to explain. “That’s really cool.”

They allowed themselves another few minutes of peace before Adam broke it and jumped to his feet in alarm, saying with flailing arms, “Wait! We’re in Maryland!”

“Yeah?” Barbara drawled. Maryland wasn’t so bad. There weren’t any dangerous animals here and the weather was decent so she was at a loss to explain the panic. Beetlejuice had his head tilted in confusion so it didn’t seem like he and Adam were on the same page either.

Adam made a series of sputtering noises as they continued not to understand. “We’re in Maryland,” he repeated, emphasizing each word. “We are in Maryland, in the Upperworld, and _not_ stuck haunting our house in Connecticut.”

“Oh!” Barbara yelped, suddenly understanding her husband’s panic.

“Huh,” Beetlejuice drawled, looking at them with the lazy eyes of a sated predator.

Adam looked at him, panicked. “How come we haven’t been shot to Saturn yet? What’s going on?”

“Uh. I’m going to be honest with you A-dog, the whole haunting shit’s kinda a crapshoot. No telling what your bounds are gonna be and how far you can wander without consequences. But, yeah, probably best to get you back home before our luck runs out.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Barbara said and Adam nodded vehemently.

Beetlejuice held out his hands and wiggled his fingers at them, thumbs somehow already healed. “Ready?” he asked with a wide grin.

Barbara and Adam shared a look and turned back to him with matching smiles. “Ready,” Adam said.

Barbara took one of Beetlejuice's proffered hands. “Let’s go home.”

He froze for a moment and stared off at nothing before seeming to come to a decision. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Let’s go home.” Barbara didn’t think he’d ever heard her call their house his home before and her heart swelled as he apparated them back to their home, filled with their wonderful family who were no doubt waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! My dog's name is Juno so writing a villain with the same name was a bit weird.


	10. Family Reunions 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual family reunion that people want to see!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here she is! The final chapter...

They appeared in a house still as a mausoleum, lights off and looking for all the world like no one lived there. There was none of the laughter and teasing and  _ life _ that normally filled their home. A heavy weight hung over the place in a cloud of despair.

“Where is everyone?” Adam whispered

“Do you think they’re okay?” Barbara whispered back. 

The house was filled with the kind of silence that dared you to break it, the kind smothered your words before they could escape your rebellious mouth. But Beetlejuice was never one to back down from a dare or challenge and so he snapped, turning all the lights in the house on all at once, causing the Maitlands to flinch back from the sudden onslaught.

They heard Delia’s yelp of surprise from upstairs followed by a dull thud.

“Honey!” Beetlejuice called out in a falsetto as loudly as he could. “I’m home!”

“Beetlejuice?” A call cried out. They heard fast steps from upstairs as Lydia ran, nearly tripping down the stairs in her mad dash.

“Lydia! Be careful,” Barbara scolded as Lydia almost fell down face first.

“Beej, Barbara, Adam! You’re back!” she cried, running towards them and wrapping them all in a tight hug.

“‘Course we are, kid. Can’t get rid of us. We’re like roaches,” Beetlejuice said into Lydia's hair, pulling her in tight, enjoying her warmth and solidness of her presence. Everything had been like fog for the past few weeks, as if he was a cloud or jellyfish that was floating without direction, but this felt like being grounded. His feet were solid and steady under him and he was mentally  _ here _ in a way he hadn’t been ever since his mom put those damned cuffs on him. He could feel Lydia and the Maitlands wrapping their arms around him, he could feel Lydia’s steady heartbeat and her breaths on his chest, and her tears dampening his shirt.

“Gross,” Adam mumbled, face tucked between Barbara and Beetlejuice’s shoulder.

They heard more footsteps behind them and a sharp gasp. “Oh my god! You’re all back,” Delia cried out, joining their hug-fest. It should feel smothering like all of Juno’s hugs did, Beetlejuice thought, but this felt like… well he wasn’t sure. But it was warm and he was happy.

“Lydia? Delia?” they heard Charles ask faintly from upstairs.

“We’re down here, Dad! Barb and Adam brought BJ back!” Lydia yelled directly into Beetlejuice’s ear, causing it to twitch back in slight pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“They’re back?” he called out. “You’re back!” he exclaimed from the top of the stairs, where he locked eyes with Beetlejuice. “Are you all alright? What happened?” he asked and rushed down the steps towards the group. Lydia turned to stick her tongue out at him. “What are — oh. Group hug?”

“Get in here Chuckles,” Beetlejuice said over his shoulder at Charles, who was standing there looking bewildered but also genuinely delighted to see him there and all in one piece. The amount of acceptance he was receiving was doing funny things in his stomach.

“Are you? I, uh…”

“Charles,” Delia scolded and held out a hand, which he took hesitantly and wrapped his arms around his weird and makeshift little family. Never had he thought when he married Emily all those years ago that he’d end up here, with a second wife who made his every day a joy, a wonderful and smart and clever daughter, two ghosts who had become family, and a scary, funny, messed up demon who’d somehow creeped his way into being almost like a son to him. He hadn’t realized how large a place the demon had in his heart until he was gone, leaving behind a gaping hole. He pulled them in tighter and felt a tear roll down his cheeks.

They all stood there for several minutes, taking comfort in simply being with each once more in one piece, but eventually Beetlejuice started squirming, still unused to blatant shows of affection, especially after his time spent with his mother, and uncomfortable with the continued close physical contact. Centuries of isolation did funny things to a person. Still, the group separated but stood close, Lydia clasping Beetlejuice’s hand in hers with Adam holding tight to his other arm, Barbara clinging to Adam.

“Are you alright, Beej? Adam, Barbara? What happened? You were gone for  _ days.  _ We were so worried that something happened to you.’

The trio shared a look. “It’s… kind of a long story,” Barbara said.

“But we’re all alright, I promise. It’s just hard to know where to begin,” Adam added and Beetlejuice said nothing. He felt his mind take a step back as he zoned out. This was wonderful and he was happy to be back, but the sharp contrast between here and the Netherworld was jarring. The cuffs had his mind in chains, refusing to let him  _ think _ or  _ feel. _ The journey here with Adam and Barbara was difficult enough, but Beetlejuice could feel the creeping itch that came with overstimulation. It was just a  _ lot _ , too much in fact.

“Beej?” Lydia asked. He hummed in question. “You  _ are  _ alright, aren’t you?”

He made a noise of confusion before jolting himself back to the present moment. He saw the concerned looks everyone was giving him and attempted a smile. “Yeah, ‘course I am. Just… tired. It’s been a long couple months.”

Charles frowned, deep and worried, raising a hand before lowering it an aborted gesture. “Months? It’s only been two and a half weeks.”

“Oh,” Barbara said, drawing the attention to herself. “It’s like Miss Argentina said, time moves differently in the Netherworld. It’s faster, isn’t it?”

Beetlejuice nodded. It was a crapshoot how long a given section of time in the Upperworld would be down below, but it was almost never slower. Beetlejuice reckoned he’d been down there around two months so the two and a half weeks it had been up here made sense. He was honestly surprised the difference was larger, but thank Satan for the small mercies that made the rest of hell bearable. Not that this was hell, Beetlejuice thought. Far from it in fact. This was the closest he’d ever get to Heaven, but he couldn’t imagine a better fate for himself even if he wasn’t damned.

Charles hummed thoughtfully. “It’s been a long few months for you hadn’t it?” he said in the gentle voice he normally reserved for Lydia when she was having a god-awful day. Beetlejuice nodded again. It had been constant nails on a chalkboard in his mind, just one torment to another as he was abandoned to wander around the halls of his childhood home like a ghost only to be confronted with his mother’s vitriol as she threw him around like a ragdoll and berated him for mistakes he couldn’t understand or recall making. He remembered groveling at her feet, begging like an abused dog, for her to forgive him, that he was  _ so sorry Mom _ , promising that he’d never do it again. He didn’t understand what he was apologizing for, but he remembered the desperation he’d felt to never to it again, to never fuck up so badly that Juno had to punish him. He shuddered remembering the feeling of her sharp claws on his skin and burning magic in his bones, leaving him so broken and in pain that he couldn’t scrap himself off the floor for hours. He’d lay in his own blood on the floor, curled up in a ball that still didn’t protect himself, just waiting for the suffering to end. It never did.

But then the Maitlands appeared. He was laying on the floor of his room, letting his eyes glaze over as his body convulsed, trying to shake off the lingering pains of his mom’s last round of punishment. He didn’t register her leaving, the pain so steady in its application and so slow to fade, but his ears pricked up when he heard movement that wasn’t the scurrying of the rats or the solid, purposeful steps of Juno.

He remembered his shock at seeing them, unable to connect his fond memories of them with their presence in his own personal hell. The two didn’t belong together and the puzzle pieces refused to click, refused to make any sort of sense in his mind, that is until Juno appeared in all of her monstrous glory. It was like wading through quicksand trying to think through the cuffs that sent sparks of pain through his nerves and bones and suppressed all emotions and thoughts that dared pass through his mind. He was only aware of being in pain, of a depression so deep he couldn't remember being happy, but the Maitlands were there to break him out of it. They were somehow able to make a crack, the tiniest sliver of awareness, in the thick cage that surrounded his mind.

“Beej?” a voice called out, but he couldn’t hear it.

He remembered looking at the Maitlands and it finally clicking that they were there for  _ him _ and that his mother, curse the bitch to whatever fate came after hell, was hurting them. Hurting him was one thing, but hurting Adam and Barbara, who were both so pure and good and kind, was  _ unacceptable. _ He could feel his ears press down and back against his skull as images of him murdering his mother for the second time played themselves in his head like an inescapable horror show.

“ —ej.  _ Beej _ ?”

“Hmm? What?”

Charles had a hand on the back of his head, fingers carding through the hairs. Beetlejuice pressed his hand against Charles and closed his eyes, begging silently for the gentle touch not to stop. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice as soft as anything.

Beetlejuice vaguely registered someone squeezing one of his hands and a firm pressure on his shoulders. He shook his head. He was not alright at all. He’d just killed his mom after spending months being tortured by her, thrown into her path by Arlund who traded him for his 30 pieces of silver, like the fucking Judas he was. Only silver in this case meant a promotion before he fucked off to whatever Netherworld pit he inhabited. At least Arlund was comfortable in his predictability. He could always be trusted to do whatever it took to better his station, BJ and anyone else in his way be damned, but Juno and her moods were mercurial and Beetlejuice found himself constantly on edge trying to predict them. It was a fruitless task but he tried all the same.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Charles asked, still stroking his head. Beetlejuice pressed his head more firmly into Charles’s hands. 

“What happened?” Lydia whispered. Beetlejuice shook his head. No, he absolutely did  _ not  _ want to talk about it. Maybe in a few weeks when his open, gaping wounds had time to scab over but everything was too raw just then and he couldn’t allow himself to bleed all over her. His emotions were too jagged for her to hold so he’d have hold onto himself for a bit. Charles and his petting was okay and so were the Maitlands hanging all over him, but bleeding his wounds all over his little sis definitely wasn’t. Delia had wrapped herself around Lydia, which she desperately needed. They were all adults and could handle more jagged pieces than Lyds, who was still just a kid, but that didn’t mean it was their job either.

Beetlejuice squinted his eyes shut again as his head throbbed. His mind was running in circles like a hamster wheel.

“Okay,” Charles whispered. “That’s okay. Why don’t we all get some rest, huh? Does that sound good?” Beetlejuice made a noise that could have been agreement and he allowed himself to float, returning back to that foggy place where he could let all the pain pass over him like a river wearing down a stone. He heard voices talking around him and while he couldn't place them, he knew they meant he was finally safe and so he allowed himself to relax. They’d take care of him, they’d help if they could. And if they couldn’t help then he was certain they wouldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t their job to help him but he was sure they’d try anyways and he could handle himself just fine if they could just get him somewhere quiet and horizontal where he could pass out.

He heard someone call his name but he let that pass over him too. His eyes snapped open as he felt himself being ever-so-gently tugged somewhere, but drooped again when he saw it was just the Maitlands. They were tugging him up the stairs. Ah, he thought, they must be putting him to bed. It had been a long day for all of them and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next century and he couldn't imagine they were much better off.

Beetlejuice made a noise of confusion as they walked right by his door and didn’t have the energy to be offended when Barbara shushed him. They led him to their room and prodded him into their bed, the one place in the house he’d always been banned from.

He made a confused noise as Adam and Barbara crawled in next to him, barricading him on either side. They reminded him of the fortress surrounding a castle, protecting the precious goods inside. 

“We’re going to go to sleep, okay?” Adam whispered to him and Beetlejuice made a noise of acknowledgment at him.

Barbara petted his hair and he melted into the touch as she chuckled softly. “Just to sleep, Beej.” Of course just to sleep. They’d made it very clear they weren’t interested in doing the other kind of sleeping with him and he was far too tired to even care or get it up if they had requested the spicier kind of  _ sleeping _ . No, this was good. He let himself relax, muscles unclenching and releasing weeks of built up tension.

He fell asleep to the comforting voices of Adam and Barbara washing over him as he allowed himself to trust them to protect him while he was soft and vulnerable, to not take advantage of his exposed belly. The snake in him protested but was quieted just as quickly as sleep overcame him, snagging him and dragging him down into the wonderful nothingness that accompanied it.

Beetlejuice woke up to the obnoxious sound of birdsong coming in through the open window and he half-bared his teeth at the uncaring beasts disturbing his rest. Exhaustion weighing on him, he let the snarl drop and his eyes drooped closed once more. He sunk deeper in the bed and felt sleep attempt to overtake him once more.

Of course there had to be a series of hard knocks at the door at just that moment and he considered turning back over and pretending to be deep asleep, but Lydia, bless her clingy and annoying little heart, creaked the door open and called his name.

“Beetlejuice?” she called again, low and taunting.

He opened bleary eyes to glare at the wall, refusing to move and give himself away.

“Bee~” she sing-songed and Beetlejuice flopped the covers off with a loud groan.

“Shut up,” he whined. “Don’t say it again.”

“Oh good,” Lydia chirped. “You’re awake.”

He heard the thud of her steps and then made a noise that  _ definitely _ wasn’t a yelp as she jumped onto his bed, bouncing him uncomfortably. Beetlejuice squinted a singular eye at her. She was looking at him with a shit-eating grin that didn’t quite overshadow the worry clear on her stupid face.

“Ugh, just lay down you brat,” he said, closing his eye. Just a few more minutes of sleep and he’d be good to go, just a few more minutes where he didn’t have to face the cold brushstrokes of reality.

“Gross, no. I don’t want to know what you did in here last night,” she said but gingerly laid down next to him anyways.

“What’re you talking about?” he slurred, still not fully awake yet but past the point where going back to sleep was an option. Damned breather. He hadn’t slept in weeks and  _ was _ looking forward to not being woken up at the asscrack of dawn.

Lydia poked at his stomach and he swatted her away, refusing to open his eyes. “You know,” she goaded.

He really did not know and said as much. “I mean, you’re sleeping in their bed. I just assumed…” she drawled, an obvious a lure as any but he jolted upright and looked around the room in confusion. What the fuck?

Memories of the previous night came back slowly, like the steady drip of a leaky faucet. Coming home, seeing Lydia and everyone else again, lots of hugs and tears before Charles said they should all get some rest, the Maitlands insisting he come sleep with them ( _ just sleep _ they said and he was in no state to even joke otherwise), relaxing in their arms as they clung to him like he’d disappear if they didn’t, them petting his hair and telling him that they loved him. 

He’d know of course, even as he was in the deepest pits of his exhaustion and vulnerability, that it was all reassuring lies, but he allowed them to comfort him anyways, taking respite in the fact that they'd be willing to lie about something as significant as their feelings for him just to make him feel better. And it had to be to make him feel better because no other reason made sense in his mind. No other puzzle pieces would click into place. Those wonderful, cheesy motherfuckers really were too good for this world and the next.

He flopped back down onto the bed, bouncing Lydia as he did so, and turned his head so she wouldn’t see the dopey smile on his face. It was unbecoming of a demon of his stature, he thought pompously, but mostly it was just embarrassing she’d goad him about it for the next month if she noticed.

Of course, because she is the most annoying and perceptive person he’s ever had the displeasure to meet, she noticed anyways and made an excited squeal that hurts his ears. He tried to glare at her but found his soft smile deepening. He’d missed her more than he could ever say.

“So you all finally worked out your feelings? I never thought any of you would get around to it, but all it took was a long, arduous soul journey full of danger and monsters. Like in books,” she laughed.

“What kind of shitty harlequin romance books are you reading?”

She poked him in the side and he rolled over enough to glare at her, an expression that did nothing to convince either of them he was actually pissy or upset. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

She groaned, low and exasperated. “You’re so annoying. Remind me why I missed you again?”

He froze, refusing to let his ears perk up and betray the vulnerable emotions that were stirring, wishing he’d thought or had the energy to glamor himself before coming back home. At least no one had made a big deal about his demonic features yet, instead letting them pass by without comment. Then again, when would they have had the time to bring it up?

But, seriously, she had  _ missed  _ him? Obviously, he’d missed her but that was a given like gravity or death or the earth’s eventual demise when the sun expanded. Her missing him was unexpected. Unfortunately, his mouth was faster than his brain.

“You missed me? Why?” he asked, incredulous. He always thought that if he left she’d be sad for a while — he wasn’t that out of touch with Lydia’s feelings for him — but he thought she’d be the type of sad that happened when your goldfish died. You’d miss the dumb thing for a little while, but it wasn’t like you were super attached or didn’t expect its early demise. Just flush it down the toilet and get a new one. A new demon might be a bit harder to swing, but she had a full, loving family now. It wasn’t how it was when they first met. Maybe he just wasn’t gone long enough for them to get over it since it had only been half a month up top.

Beetlejuice spared half a glance to look at Lydia, who was uncharacteristically silent and looked distraught. He looked away but felt shuffling from her side of the bed and then let out an  _ oof _ as she collapsed none too gently onto his chest.

“Of course I missed you, dumbass,” she grumbled into his chest, voice muffled.

“But… why? I mean, I, ugh,” he groaned, but persevered, each word like pulling teeth. “I missed you too, but... I still… I mean,” Beetlejuice cut himself off with a groan. Emotions sucked and talking about them was worse.

Lydia sniffled in a way that made Beetlejuice think she was holding back tears. “Because you’re family and I love you,” she said easily, like it should have been obvious and he was the dumb one for not knowing that already. He knew she liked him but  _ love _ was a completely different beast. Maybe she was lying to make him feel better like the Maitlands were? But, no, that didn’t make sense. She didn’t need to go this far. The Maitlands didn’t either but Lydia was clever in a way no one else in the house was so she had to already know that.

He thought about the types of love that the Greeks always bitched and moaned about during their heyday. There was romantic love, obviously, the type that was so obvious when the Maitlands looked at one another and even when Charles and Delia were left alone long enough to get mushy. There was also platonic love, the type that you felt for friends that had stuck around long enough that they learned to tolerate your annoying habits and idiosyncrasies. 

There was familial love, maternal and paternal affection that he’d never understood or received. He saw it clearly when the Deetz and Maitlands interacted with Lydia, always asking after her and making sure she was taken care of and happy, and he even saw it a bit when Charles insisted on their biweekly grocery trips together or when Delia would make a point to hang out with him. This was the type of love that Lydia was talking about — it was the only one that made sense . She’d called him  _ family _ .

He’d never had one of those before, not really. He had a mother but that wasn’t the same thing at all. Everyone had one of those but not everyone had a family.

Did he love Lydia? Beetlejuice’s mind stalled when he thought about the question. It went against his very nature to consider it. Love was… it wasn’t done among demons. It just wasn’t a thing. Except…. It was? Because he definitely loved Lydia. He wanted her to be safe and happy and content and for everything good in the world to happen to her and he’d fight anyone and anything who threatened that. If that wasn’t love then he wasn’t sure what it was.

Beetlejuice swallowed and Lydia took mercy on him, breaking up his spiraling thoughts.

“Why wouldn’t I miss you?” she asked into his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said with a small frown. “I just didn’t expect you to.”

She hummed and said with forced levity, “That’s because you’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, guess I am,” he said, running his fingers through her hair and she turned to look at him, careful not to dislodge his hand.

“That’s okay,” she said conspiratorially. “I don’t need any competition for smartest kid in the house and this way we can do dumb shit together.”

He hummed. That was true enough. Doing dumb shit wasn’t nearly as fun when you were thinking about responsible things like consequences. “I still think we should have put cockroaches in that bitch Claire’s locker.”

“Maybe one day,” Lydia allowed, but the lightness in mood quickly turned into a thick tension as she stared at him with discomfiting intensity. “Are you okay? I know I asked last night but you were pretty out of it.”

“Yeah,” he said and paused to think. Telling her full details about what happened as right out — she was still a child and he didn't really want to get into it anyways. She’d also worry and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. She had enough to concern herself over that actually warranted it, not like him. He could take care of himself, Maitland-led rescue attempt aside. He knew he could have gotten himself out if he tried hard enough, but pushed down the subsequent question of why he didn’t try at all to escape once Juno had her claws in him.

“It wasn’t great, not gonna lie. Juno had these, uh, cuffs that she put on me? They look like thick black bracelets, really, not like handcuffs at all. But they suppressed my powers and made it hard to think, which is why I seemed out of it yesterday. Lingering effects of their magic and just general tiredness,” he said, none of which was a lie. “But it wasn’t too bad. She didn’t hurt me besides that and a little binding spell doesn’t really count as hurting someone anyways,” he said, all of which was a lie.

He didn’t want to talk about how Juno had beat him bloody, used her magic to send electric pain down his spine, how it felt like every bone was being broken simultaneously. He didn’t want to talk about the panic and desperation he’d felt when he locked him in his barren room and chained him to the floorboards. He didn’t want to talk about her constant threats and insults and the heartbreak of knowing how deeply he disappointed her, of knowing to his core that he was an irredeemable fuck-up. He didn’t want to talk about it and so he clenched his teeth and didn’t.

Instead, he told her light truths and hid the hard lies. 

It seemed to work, too, because Lydia visibly relaxed at his easy smile and purposefully relaxed body language. “You sure?” she asked.

He nodded firmly. He was sure it could have been far, far worse.

“And you’re better now?”

“Back to 100% babes,” he said. At her slightly distrustful look he added, “Promise.”

She appeared mollified and allowed him to drift back into his half-asleep haze before speaking up again, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “I’m so sorry, Beej.”

He tried not to be annoyed, he really did, but this was the last conversation he wanted to have just then. He bit back a sight and leveled his eyes at Lydia, who was staring at him with tears that threatened to fall. Damn it.

“What for, kid? You didn’t do —”  _ anything wrong _ , he almost said but stopped himself because she  _ did _ . He didn’t think it was on purpose but she definitely fucked up big time. And if Lydia was anything like him, and she was despite all her protests to the contrary, it was eating her alive right now. He sighed, and resumed petting a hand through her hair and she burrowed further into his chest. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened, but I don’t think you did anything I need to forgive you for, but if it’s my forgiveness that you need then you have it,” he said stiffly.

“How can you not blame me?” she whispered, refusing to look at him. “I messed up  _ so bad _ , I mean your arm was broken and the house was disturbed and you got banished and trapped in the Netherworld with  _ Juno _ and—”

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” he cut her off. “None of that is your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t—”

“I mean, yeah,” he said and she looked at him with a slightly betrayed expression and he rushed to explain. “You kicked the whole thing off, but all the horrible shit that happened afterwards is completely on Arlund. You aren’t responsible for him being an awful person and it’s not like I haven’t royally fucked up either.” There was nothing Lydia could ever do than would be worse than what he did to her when they first met.

“But—”

“No buts. Unless we’re talking about the Maitlands.”

“You’re gross,” Lydia said with a watery smile.

Beetlejuice chuckled. “Bet you’re wishing you took more advantage of my time away,” he snarked.

All traces of amusement dropped from Lydia’s face. “Don’t joke like that. I’d never want you to leave like that. I mean, obviously you annoy me sometimes but that doesn’t mean I want you to  _ go away _ . You know that, don’t you?”

Did he? “You tell me to go away all the time though.”

Lydia propped an arm up so she could stare Beetlejuice down with an intensity that she must have inherited from Chuck. “Not like  _ that _ , just for a couple hours and not  _ like that _ . I never want you to go away like that again.”

“Oh,” he said lamely. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to go away either.”

Lowering herself back down onto his chest, Lydia said, “Good.”

They both laid there in silence for another few moments, each caught in their own thoughts as Beetlejuice absent-mindedly traced patterns into Lydia’s back.

Eventually he broke the silence with a question that had been burning him ever since Arlund first appeared. “Why?” He knew there should be more after that but he had so many  _ whys _ that he wanted to ask her and none of them would come out.

Lydia hummed. “Why what?”

“Why,” he sighed. “Why’d you summon him in the first place? Like… I’ve been trying to come up with a reason that makes sense but I guess I’m not smart enough to figure out what goes on in that crazy little hamster wheel of a head of yours.”

The joke fell flat. “I thought you two were friends,” Lydia admitted. “You said you two were sort-of friends and I guess I thought that meant he’d be more like you instead of... you know. I thought maybe you missed him and we could all hang out and be friends and shit. It was stupid.”

No, he thought, it was kind. It wasn’t even nice— even Arlund could be nice sometimes. But it was kind of Lydia to want to do something like that for him and he didn’t know what to do with the emotions that bubbled up. Instead, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

“Thanks, kid,” he said and they both allowed the conversation to drop, slowly falling back into  a quiet doze, perfectly content to be in the other’s presence and perfectly willing to push the other pressing conversations off until later when they were both less raw.

Eventually Charles came to claim them both for lunch and managed to cajole the two of them to the kitchen table with promises of Barbara’s apple pie for dessert. Naps were good, but Barbara’s pie was a special treat neither of them would risk missing out on. Sleep could wait until they were dead. Not that you sleep when you’re dead either.

Everyone was already seated when they arrived and lunch passed without any chaos or surprises, which was a nice change of pace. Beetlejuice noticed lingering looks from the others, but ignored them as he served up second and third helpings. He didn’t normally pile on so much food since he didn’t technically  _ need _ to eat, but his body was used to it and a few months without had made his stomach feel like a gnawing bottomless pit.

Eventually they moved to the living room and started a movie marathon at Lydia’s behest (they were watching something called Star Trek? — Lydia was still trying to “enhance his cultural awareness” and apparently this was part of that ) and so the day passed. No one seemed inclined to leave him alone for longer than it took to step out of the room for a snack and Beetlejuice took comfort in the fact that they seemed to match his clinginess today.

Every time his thoughts spiraled away from him, threatening to send him into a panic, he looked around to see everyone there, sitting with and near him for no other reason that he could discern other than they wanted to be there. It was almost enough to make him cry, but instead he curled further into the arm of the couch instead.

Somehow, over the course of the day, he’d been shuffled to the middle of the couch with Adam and Barbara on either side of him and Lydia laying over all of their laps in a way that couldn’t be comfortable but she seemed content enough where she was. Adam was resting his head on Beeltejuice’s shoulder and Barbara was tucked up next to him, leaning into his side, causing a weird but not entirely uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Delia gave him a knowing smile that he turned away from.

“Wait, so they’re going back in time for a whale?” Adam asked, incredulous.

Lydia shushed him. This whole series didn’t make any sense to Beetlejuice anyways, but he found that he didn’t mind at all.

The contrast between the easy familiarity he had here versus the stark coldness of Juno’s house and his childhood home was obvious and it made him all the happier to be back home. Juno’s house was never his home, he thought. He might have grown up there but he was never comfortable or welcome. The entire place was designed to make all intruders uneasy and miserable, feeding on their terror, and he was no exception.

It was a cold, dark place that had horrible memories shoved into every corner of it. Here, though, here was different. There were bad memories here, sure, but the good ones far outweighed the bad. He was accepted here. They’d all seen him at his worst and let him in their lives anyways, allowed him far more leeway and freedom to be himself that Beetlejuice had expected. A burden he didn’t even know he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders when he came here. He came  _ home _ .

He was respected by everyone without thought and he came to the conclusion that he’d never been respected before coming here. Beetlejuice could establish boundaries here (a concept he still struggled with) and expect to see them followed with no consequences to his person. He could say he didn’t like something or admit he was upset by something, even something  _ they  _ did, and there’d be no retribution, not even a snide comment about how weak he was for being bothered in the first place.

Somehow without being aware of it, this place and these people had become his home. It brought a smile to his face that he brushed off when Lydia squinted questioning eyes at him, and he allowed himself to be washed into the weirdness that was currently playing on the TV.

When it came time for all the little breathers to go to bed Beetlejuice got up and stretched, following everyone upstairs. Charles headed off to clean up the mess they’d made in the kitchen but Delia and Lydia looked ready to pass out.

Beetlejuice was heading to his room, still on the fence whether or not he’d sleep that night or not, when he was intercepted by his two wonderful, sexy ghosts.

He looked them up and down. “Yeah?” he prodded when it looked like they’d gotten a bit tongue tied.

Barbara sent Adam a pointed look.

“We were, uh, wondering. Well, hoping, that you might want to…. Sleep? With us? Again, like last night?” Adam sputtered, a wonderful flush rising on his cheeks.

“Aww, A-dog,” he cooed. “Just can’t get enough of the B-man?” he laughed. “But I don’t think you want me invading your whole,” he waved a hand at them, “marriage of the ages thing you got going on. I know last night was a one-off, but you know I’m like a stray cat. Let me in and you won’t be getting rid of me anytime soon.” He smiled to cover the sting of truth in that statement. He could all-to-easily get used to sharing a bed, a space, a life with them. It was better to cut it off now before he became used to it. His own bed might be lonelier but it came with about a thousand percent less risk of future heartbreak.

Adam took a deep breath and seemed to push his next words out before he had time to think too hard about them. “But we want you there. With us tonight and in the middle of our whole ‘marriage of the ages’ thing, as you called.”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth to retort but closed it again as Adam’s words began to process. He looked to Baraba who was staring at him with a hopeful expression, which didn’t make any sense at all.

“I… what?” he managed to say. It wasn’t fair of him to come here and be all confusing and shit, talking nonsense after he’d just managed to get his head screwed back on straight.

“Why don’t we talk in the bedroom?” Barbara suggested, all doe-eyed and logical. “More privacy there and I think we have some things we should talk about before more time gets away.” She must notice his slightly panicked expression because she quickly continues, “It’s nothing bad! Actually, I think you’ll like what we have to say.”

Beetlejuice hummed, unconvinced. Talking rarely brought about anything good in his experience, but he trusted these naive and stupidly brave ghosts more than any other dead beings in existence so he followed them to their bedroom without too much protest, which they ignored like champs.

Barbara sat down on the bed and patted next to her while Adam crawled on the other side. Beetlejuice tilted his head in confusion but sat where Barbara indicated anyways.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment but Beetlejuice eventually broke the silence. “So,” he drawled. “What’s up?”

Barbara looked oddly nervous and it put Beetlejuice on edge. Adam looked nervous as well but he got nervous around anything from spiders to scary movies so Beetlejuice didn’t take his nerves into account as much. But if Barbara was nervous then there must have been something actually worth worrying about.

Beetlejuice put a halt to thoughts that threatened to spiral and forced any hint of worry from his face. 

“Well,” Barbara said, glancing at Adam who was playing with a loose string on the comforter, “I guess we just wanted to talk about everything that happened and what it means for us.”

Well, what the fuck did that mean? It meant fuck-all, that’s what. ‘Everything that happened’ was a lot and ‘us’ was too vague a pronoun. Who was  _ us _ ? Was it Adam and Barbara, the three of them, everyone in the house?

“Alright,” he said slowly, dragging out each syllable. 

“I...” Barbara hesitated. “I think we should all put our cards on the table here so there aren’t any miscommunications. I think it would be all too easy for something to get misinterpreted here,” she said.

“Literally, what are you even talking about?”

Adam huffed. “I think that’s exactly why we’re laying it all out there, right honey?” Adam asked, to which Barbara agreed.

“We want you to join us,” Barbara said, the word spilling out of her mouth so quickly that Beetlejuice thought she might not have meant to say it. 

That didn’t mean what she said made any sort of sense, however. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“We want you to join... us,” Adam repeated. “As in our relationship?”

The puzzle pieces weren’t clicking so much as being shoved unceremoniously together. “Oh!” he said in realization. “Why didn’t you just say so? I’m totally up for getting dicked down by either you at any point in time. You didn’t need to be so shy about it,” he said with a wide grin. He didn’t know why they felt the need to be coy about the whole thing, especially since he’d been flirting with them since day one but that was part of what he loved about them. They were so perfectly, wonderfully vanilla and shy and he was eager to hear what passed for dirty talk with them, especially with a threesome on the near horizon.

“What? No!” Adam yelped as Beetlejuice moved to being unbuttoning his overcoat. “That’s not what we’re asking here.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Well now he was thoroughly confused. Adam looked flustered and his flush had spread all the way down his neck and Beetlejuice wondered how far down it went. Except, no, he wasn’t allowed to wonder that because it was ‘invasive and objectifying,’ to quote Lydia’s consent PowerPoint from forever ago, and because they  _ apparently _ hadn’t invited him in here for sex. 

“Then what did you mean?” he asked, more confused than annoyed at the coitus interruptus.

Barbara patted Adam’s arm with an indulgent grin before turning back to Beetlejuice. “We want you to be a part of our relationship,” Barbara said, nervously tapping the fingers of her free hand against her leg.

“I don’t understand,” Beetlejuice groused. “You  _ just _ said no to a threesome.”

“That wasn't and isn't what we’re asking you, bug,” Barbara said.

Beetlejuice rumbled a low growl under his breath. What the fuck did they want then? It felt like they were circling the subject like a pack of vultures waiting for their prey to die and he didn’t appreciate playing the role of prey. It might be fun during a scene, but they’d made it very clear that this wasn’t a sex thing, so the appeal was greatly reduced.

“We want you to be a part of our  _ relationship _ ,” Barbara repeated, again.

“What the fuck does that  _ mean _ ?” he asked. They were being deliberately opaque at this point.

“It means,” Adam said with his endless patience. “We want you to be a part of this, of us. To join us on dates, to do all the romantic stuff you pretend to hate, to be  _ mushy _ with us. And uh, well, sex is part of it too, but that’s… well that’s secondary to the relationship part.”

“Exactly,” Barbara agreed and gently took Beetlejuice’s hands in her own. “We want you to be a part of the  _ whole _ relationship, to be a couple with us.”

“I think it’s called a throuple when it’s three people, hon,” Adam teased.

“Oh hush you. I know that. It’s just a dumb-sounding word. And Beej knows what I mean, right?” she asked.

“You’re asking me to date you?” he asked in disbelief. That didn’t make any sense at all. There was no benefit to asking him to join their golden couple relationship. He was loud, chaotic, messy and had a list of mommy issues a mile long. They were far too good for a hot piece of garbage like him. He was well aware that he was hot shit when appearance-wise but he was also  _ hot shit _ in the less than fun ways too.

“Yes,” Barbara said with a smile. “That’s exactly what we mean.”

“I know we did it all a bit out of order,” Adam said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. “Since we already did the whole dramatic love confession, but we’d still like to do this the right way.”

“Right,” Barbara chirped. “We want to date you first and build up to the rest of it, even if we already know how much we love you.”

“Wait,  _ stop, _ ” Beetlejuice said, lowering his head so it was touching his knees and grabbing at his hair. This was becoming a dangerously overwhelming conversation.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked, sounding panicked. “You, you don’t have to say anything or  _ reciprocate _ in any way. We just wanted to… we thought. We….” he trailed off.

“Can we hug you?” Barbara asked. Beetlejuice shook his head immediately in the negative before rethinking it and nodding slowly. Physical contact that didn’t hurt would be nice right about now. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded again and was immediately embraced in a wonderful, tight hug. It wasn’t warm since they lacked the body heat to make that happen, but it was still comforting and he forced himself to relax and release the built-up tension in his muscles.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled into Adam’s shoulder.

“What don’t you understand?” Adam murmured.

_ Why are you lying to me?  _ he didn’t ask, even though it was the first question that sprang to mind. Instead, he made a desperate whining noise that he hoped communicated his lack of ability to form any coherent thoughts at the moment.

Barbara made a soft, sympathetic noise. “Please talk to us.”

She asked for so little on the surface, but she couldn’t have asked for anything more difficult in reality. Talking was  _ easy _ . He could talk for hours non-stop if he got on a roll, but that didn’t mean he said anything that was worthwhile or meant anything of value. Talking with purpose was the most difficult thing in the world, leaving you open and bare, like a defenseless wolf pup with its eyes still closed, like a snake belly-up. Talking meant vulnerability and he’d been beaten down too many times to take that lightly.

He whined again and felt Adam shuffling closer. “Why are you lying to me?” he whispered.

“What?” Barbara said in confusion. “We haven't lied to you. Why would we do that?”

He lifted his head up and prayed to whatever god would listen that he looked less overwhelmed than he felt, but judging by the twin faces of concern staring him down, he didn’t think anyone heard his prayer. “ _ I don’t know,”  _ he said desperately, tugging at his hair again, enjoying the sharp pain it brought and the brief clarity that came with it.

“It’s okay,” Adam said. “We… we love you and we’re here for you and we’re not going anywhere.”

Beetlejuice snarled at him, low and angry, and Adam had the nerve to not look the least bit afraid. “Stop  _ saying  _ that.”

“Saying what, Beej?”

Fuck Adam and fuck Barbara and fuck this communication thing. He’d rather be in the Netherworld getting his eyes gouged out than listen to these  _ lies _ anymore.

“The rules say no malicious lies,” he growled.

Barbara and Adam looked surprised and he snarled at them again. How  _ dare _ they act like they don’t know what he’s talking about.

“We haven’t lied to you, bug. We wouldn't do that,” Barbara said. Beetlejuice hummed and glared, deeply unimpressed.

“We haven’t,” she insisted.

Adam put a calming hand on her shoulder and turned to Beetlejuice. “What do you think we lied to you about?” he asked, voice steady and calm.

“You  _ know _ .” How could they not?

“We don’t,” Adam said.

Beetlejuice hummed and then deeply sighed. Fine, he’d play along. “You keep saying that you _ love me _ . And I get that it was to break me out of that foggy, confusion spell or whatever but you don’t have to keep at it. At some point the joke stops being funny and that point was about three confessions ago.”

“What?” Barbara gaped at him.

“We’re not — We  _ wouldn’t _ ,” Adam sputtered. “That would be cruel and we wouldn’t do that to you.” He refrained from saying they already did once upon a time but that was months ago and they were all different people now, better people. He sighed, maybe they weren’t lying but that didn’t mean they were right about what they were feeling.

“We meant it, Beej. We  _ do _ love you and we’ll say it as many times and show you however you need us to in order for you to believe us.”

“But,” Adam broke in. “If you don’t want that, if you don’t want… us, then that’s okay too. There’s no pressure on you either way to reciprocate but —”

“Of course I reciprocate!” Beetlejuice blurted out.  _ Of course _ he did. Wasn’t that as obvious as the stripes on his suit?

“You do?” Adam asked.

“Yes, all the lovey dovey shit that you guys have going on with each other, I also… do… feel that,” he said lamely and felt the blush rise on his cheeks and tinges of pink appear on the ends of his hair. He coughed and looked up at the ceiling, saying, “I love you both. So much. You are everything I could have ever wanted in a relationship and I know,  _ I know _ , that you two deserve each other and I’m not worth nearly all that. You can’t and shouldn’t want me.” He looked back down at the two of them and huffed a laugh. “I know what you think you feel but give it a few weeks. It’ll blow over.”

Barbara looked genuinely angry for the first time he’d seen since the Netherworld And Beetlejuice half flinched back. “What we  _ think _ we feel? Don’t you dare insult us like that. We’re all adults here and we know what we want.”

“But you shouldn’t,” he interrupted.

“That doesn’t matter, Beej! You don’t get to decide what we should and what we shouldn’t want.”

Beetlejuice sputtered. “But I’m not like you two. I’m crude and gross and I have a massive temper. And I’m, I’m  _ too much _ . Too loud, too sexual, too  _ me _ .”

“Not to us,” Barbara said.

“And besides, if we wanted someone like us we wouldn’t have pursued you in the first place. We want  _ you _ , all the good and all the bad.”

“But —”

“And you get all of our good and bad parts too. It’s not a one-sided deal,” Adam said.

Beetlejuice opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. They were offering him a lot ,  _ too much _ , and weren’t accepting any of his arguments otherwise. They were right in a way, he supposed, they were adults and could make their own choices, but this was the  _ wrong one _ . He wanted so much for it to be otherwise but it was. They didn’t need all of his baggage in addition to their own stresses.

Except, they already  _ did _ deal with his shit, didn’t they? They were there during his many mental breakdowns and lessons on human etiquette and when his past snuck up on him and sent him spiraling. They were even there, fighting by his side, when Arlund showed up and went to the Netherworld, facing down his mom for  _ him _ . It wasn’t for Lydia or for some cosmic reason of valuing others. It was for him. Because, for whatever their wild and crazy reasons, they loved him. Even more importantly, however, they  _ liked _ him. That was a rarity in and of itself.

And he’d spent the rest of his afterlife working to be worthy of that precious gift.

“Okay,” he said. “Yes. I want it. That is if I haven’t scared you off by being too difficult,” he joked.

“You’re always difficult,” Adam chided gently.

“So you want to be a part of this?” Barbara asked.

“If you’ll have me,” Beetlejuice said. “I don’t understand why you’d want me in between you two when you already have a good thing going, but I want to be a part of it. And I swear to you both that I’ll do everything I can to deserve it.”

“Oh, Beej,” Barbara scolded. “You already deserve it. We just need to work on getting you to believe it.”

“Can we kiss you?” Adam asked and Beetlejuice nodded. Barbara’s lips were soft and gentle against his and Adam’s kiss was tender but forceful, like he wanted everything Beetlejuice would give him and more. They were the most precious gift he’d ever received and he melted into their arms.

The next few weeks followed quietly without any fanfare, as if the universe had decided that the previous few weeks was more than enough chaos and stress and was allowing them a bit of a reprieve before the next tragedy would strike. And Beetlejuice was sure it would strike. That’s just how life was. You were either going through some shit or you were about it and there was no use worrying over it.

That didn’t mean the break from chaos wasn’t nice, because it was and Beetlejuice had been taking full advantage of it. He and Lydia had caused plenty of chaos around town and she’d managed to snap a few pictures of the collapsed bridge as it was falling down as well, something they had  _ nothing _ to do with so don’t ask. 

Delia hovered whenever he wasn’t with Lydia or the Maitlands and he shrugged her off with biting words that he didn’t mean, but she stayed anyway and he was brave enough to admit to himself that he appreciated it. She was weird, but also kind to a fault and motherly in a way that Beetlejuice had to stop himself from latching onto like a leech. It was intoxicating and so he had to distance himself. 

Charles wasn’t much better. He didn’t hover like his wife — that simply wasn’t in his nature, but he paid more attention to what Beetlejuice was doing and would prod him into eating when he’d forget and cajole him into eating ‘real people food’ when he tried to munch on something ‘inedible.’ Beetlejuice figured that was his way of showing that he cared. He’d also invite Beej to watch TV with him when he wasn’t busy working and Beetlejuice bitched and moaned about it, but it wasn’t half-bad. He wasn’t brave enough to admit to himself yet that he enjoyed hanging out with Charles too. Motherly affection, while not something he was used to, was still more familiar to him than paternal affection. Not that he thought of them in that way but it was hard not to see the similarities between how they treated Lydia and how they treated him.

He tried not to think about it too hard.

In fact, Beetlejuice was trying to think of as little as possible as he laid on the roof, tucked into a small ball like a cat, in the middle of a ray of sunshine, soaking up the warmth until he could feel it in his bones. There was nothing like a lazy day of sleep and sunshine while most of the house’s inhabitants were away at work or school. He could join the Maitlands in the garden if she so chose, but this was comfortable and didn’t require any effort on his part.

He stared down at them with soft eyes and just knew his hair was bright flustered pink. They were working on planting daisies in the garden below and were shining so bright with joy it was almost blinding. Adam looked up and noticed him creeping on them from the roof and waved.

Beetlejuice apparated down and swung him into a deep kiss, one of the hundreds they’d shared since their heart-to-heart.

“Oi!” Barbara called out, brushing the dirt on her hands onto her dress. “As much as I’m enjoying the view, and believe me I am, I’m feeling a little left out over here.”

Beetlejuice laughed, loud and bright and happy, and swung her into his arms and kissed her before pulling her back upright. “That what you were after?” he asked.

She hummed conspiratorially. “I don’t know. I think you’ll have to do it again to be sure.”

He complied without complaint, bringing Adam into the fold. He heard the door open and creak shut as Lydia stepped outside.

“Gross,” she called out and he untangled an arm to flip her off.

“Love you too you annoying little shit,” he snarked back while she blew a raspberry at him.

He stared at her, this wonderful, bright person who brought him into this family showed him how different and how much better life could be and looked at the couple in his arms, two people who somehow thought he deserved them and showered him in affection every second he didn’t believe it and who he loved and cherished in return. He knew Charles and Delia were inside doing whatever it was they did when the rest of the house wasn’t bothering them and felt a swell of affection for them as well, for how they accepted him and all of his flaws and for how they showed him how a family should be.

Change is difficult, always has been and always will be and Beetlejuice’s transition to life in the Upperworld was fraught with countless more difficulties than he expected and he wouldn’t change it for all the world because this, right here right now, was perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the end but not to worry! I have several spin-off one shots planned! Don't expect anything in the next couple weeks or so because I'm a bit written-out from this 230 page-long monster of fic haha (this 70k words longer than my next longest fic!) but don't worry because I can't stay off my bullshit for too long. Thank all of you for coming along with me on this ride and for the amazing and massive support you've given me! You've all blown me away with your kindness!! 
> 
> Endings are a challenge for me, but I hope this lived up to everyone's expectations. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive off comments 🥺 please drop even an extra kudos or emoji if you enjoyed!
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @acescard if you want to scream at me about Beetlejuice!


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